


Should've Just Asked

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Flirting, Alternate Universe - Human, Bottom Castiel, Castiel POV, First Meeting, First Time, Fluff, Friendship, Frustrated Dean, Geek Dean, Grey Ace Castiel, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oblivious Castiel, Rich Winchesters, Romantic Comedy, Slow Burn, Top Dean, communication issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 08:30:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 77,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8320966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: Despite their age gap and differing social circles, Castiel has struck up a warm friendship with Mary Winchester, a wealthy widowed socialite. When Castiel needs a place to stay, Mary invites him into her house, where there’s loads of spare room. Castiel’s aware that they make an odd pair, but he doesn’t fully realize how things look to outsiders, especially to Mary’s eldest son. All Dean Winchester sees is that his mom has apparently hooked up with a hot young guy (who is totally Dean’s type) and that makes things… weird.





	1. our house was our castle and our keep

**Author's Note:**

> Other characters/pairings: Anna, Meg, Rowena, Sam/Jess, past Dean/Donnie, past Dean/Bela, past John/Mary
> 
> Sexual content: There’s no on-page penetration in this fic, but it only mentions and is highly suggestive of bottom!Cas and top!Dean, hence the tags.
> 
> [There is awesome art for this fic by wayoffcanon!](http://wayoffcanon.tumblr.com/post/152071087426/shouldve-just-asked-a-2016-deancas-big-bang-fic)
> 
> Many thanks to flyingcatstiel, shannon-kind and geefishgerald for their beta work! This fic would be lesser without them. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

Looking back, Castiel would describe the past year of his life as a series of poorly-thought-out decisions, one after another. Anna would likely disagree, seeing as one of said decisions involved his moving in to live with her, which was obviously a _genius_ decision and no one can tell her otherwise. However, Anna is biased, because she’s also the one who’d taken him into her home with minimal questions, which was more than he deserved.

Just because Castiel has a kind, loving sister doesn’t mean that he isn’t also a walking disaster, and, now in his mid-thirties, either having a belated teenage tantrum or an early mid-life crisis.

So when Mary Winchester takes Castiel aside and presents her proposal, he thinks: sure, why not. If this goes well, then it’ll be an improvement on everything thus far, and if it doesn’t, it just means that he’s adding on to the winning streak of questionable choices he’s already made _anyway_.

“That sounds interesting,” Castiel tells her. “Tell me more.”

“I won’t be able to pay you very much,” Mary says. “With the grant I have, I’d normally try to get someone right out of college, but since Anna told me you’re searching for something to do…”

“I am,” Castiel says. “This sounds right up my alley, actually. I like libraries, and I enjoy copy-editing.”

“The thing is, though, you might have to stay at the house.”

Castiel likes Mary, and he certainly likes her more than most of Anna’s other customers that he’s met over the past months, but he bristles. “I can manage without my sister.”

“Consider the room and board the rest of your salary.”

“Mary,” Castiel says warningly.

“Castiel.” Mary reaches across the table and puts her hand on top of his. Castiel’s lost count of the number of times he’s wondered just how often Mary uses that guileless smile to mask her devious intentions. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Do friends regularly cheat each other at poker?”

“Oh dear! You’ve been cheating?”

Castiel scowls, and keeps on scowling when Mary laughs. “To answer your other question – _yes_ , Mary, we’re friends. I’m not precisely sure how it happened, but we are.”

“Here’s what I think: it’s because I see a lot of myself in you, and you are seeking connections of your own.”

“That’s not true,” Castiel says weakly. “If it were, I wouldn’t be…”

“Just because you want something doesn’t mean you can do the work of going after it,” Mary says, waving it off. “Anyway. I think I have a little skill in recognizing someone who’s had their life derailed in a big way. I never told you before, but I had a falling out with my family when I was just a little younger than you are now. It’s tough. It’s tough and it gets to you, and although my husband’s pride got in the way a couple of times, I will never stop being grateful to the people who helped me when I needed it. This is a form of paying it forward.”

Castiel listens to the whole spiel without interrupting, partially out of curiosity, and partially because Mary usually has a point worth listening to.

“I know you don’t need it,” Mary adds. “I’m offering it anyway.”

Anna wouldn’t have said anything, but Castiel wonders if Mary has sensed his sister’s worry. Castiel’s told Anna that he’s fine and will manage, and that he would never forgive himself if she put her life on hold simply because he can’t figure out his. As much as he loves her, and as much as she’s been enjoying bossing him around this past year, she’s not his keeper.

“Keep talking,” Castiel says.

Mary brightens. “You’re considering it?”

“I’m allowing myself to be convinced. You may continue your efforts to convince me.”

  


* * *

  


Castiel moves into Mary Winchester’s house on a Tuesday, late in the afternoon. He doesn’t have that many things, so it takes the one trip in Anna’s car, with Anna driving.

“What is it with you and stealing all of my best friends?” Anna says teasingly. “Uriel I can understand, but Mary?”

“Mary’s like you,” Castiel says. “She likes taking care of people. I doubt I’m the first she’s invited this way.”

“Empty nest syndrome, maybe,” Anna says with a nod. “All alone in the big house, I’d try to get a roommate, too.”

Castiel only understands what Anna means by ‘big house’ when they get there, pulling up to the front gate and buzzing the intercom to be let in. Castiel knew that Mary lived comfortably enough to employ freelance artists like Anna for personal pieces, but he can’t say that he was expecting the high gate and brick fence covered with well-tended vines, nor the sprawling mansion of white and grey within, marked with columns that stretch from the ground to the second floor roof.

“I think I may have made a mistake,” Castiel says, when Anna parks near the entrance. The gravel driveway from the gate switches to light brown stone closer to the house, and more of that stone is set in a rectangular patch around the steps that lead up to the front door. It makes for a cozy, convenient parking area for visitors, and could be dressed up attractively for events. If Castiel were driving today, he’d park in a corner, but Anna is not him, and she happily sets her car right in the middle and cuts the engine.

“Now you get to see where we put the pieces!” Anna’s excitement drops a few levels when she sees Castiel’s face. “What’s wrong? Oh for goodness sake, do you think Mary likes having so much extra space just for herself? You’re as much doing her a favor as she is you.”

“I think you’ll find that the scales of favor are a tad more imbalanced than that.”

“Psshh.” Anna is out of the car and heading up the stairs before Castiel can shake his nerves off. “Come on!”

Castiel can’t exactly stay in the car all day, so he follows, noting that there are five steps leading from the stone path up to the entrance, and the two pillars flanking said entrance are as intimidating up close as they were from a distance. Of the double doors, one is open, and Mary is standing inside smiling and gesturing for them to come in.

“Welcome, welcome!” Mary says. “Do you need help carrying your things?”

“No, I’m fine, thank you.” Castiel steps into a foyer with a skylight above and a grand curved staircase to his right, but his attention is caught on the bronze lion statue set right in the center of the foyer, standing on its hind legs and apparently roaring at the first floor balcony.

Anna is excited to see it too. “You moved it!”

“Yes, it wasn’t catching the light as well in the dining room,” Mary says. “I like her being here. It looks like she’s mad that people are taking too dang long to get ready.”

“You didn’t make this one,” Castiel says.

“Oh no, I brokered this one for her.” Anna’s smile broadens when she sees Castiel’s gawping at the place. “Makes you feel a little like Fräulein Maria, doesn’t it?”

“Fräulein Maria?” Castiel says. “Ah, yes, the lady who was supposed to teach the King of Siam’s children.”

“No, that’s not… Never mind! We should show Castiel where all my pieces are, shouldn’t we?”

“Indeed,” Mary says. She links her arm in Anna’s as they take Castiel on a tour of the house. Supposedly it’s a tour of Anna’s various paintings, commissioned by Mary, that now adorn the place, but really it’s a tour of the domicile that will house Castiel for the next half year or more.

It’s as extensive as it looks from the outside. There’s a sunken lounge with an attached bar, a casual dining room, a non-casual dining room, a gym, guest rooms - plural, plus various other rooms that Castiel forgets about as soon as he sees Mary’s study. Said study is on a split level wing between the ground and first floor, tucked next to an open pantry and a smaller lounge (“No, this is the TV room,” Mary says) and in Castiel’s eye more a library than a study. There are dark wooden shelves stuffed with books in long, beautiful lines from one corner of the room to the next, and Castiel finds himself drifting, fingertips brushing along the shelves as he walks along them in wonder.

“Why do you have so many books?” Castiel says.

Mary laughs. “You might as well ask me why I have a gym. Everything here has been read, if that’s what’s bothering you. I’m not the only person in my family who reads, and… they accumulate over time.”

Castiel inclines his head to the colorful children’s books grouped together on a low shelf. “Classics? Your boys must be grown up by now.”

“So I hoard a little,” Mary says. “Sue me.”

“Plus they could come into good use once you have grandkids,” Anna says.

“Ugh,” Mary says, “Let’s not get into that. Anyway, I do try to rotate where I can – garage sales unearth such treasures sometimes, and Eileen comes over occasionally to take things for the library.”

“Castiel, look.” Anna is of course standing in front of two of her paintings, a complementing pair of abstract pieces that are set into the wall next to the desks. “You haven’t seen these before.”

“Those are lovely,” Castiel says. “They go very well with the wallpaper.”

“With them here, _technically_ I’ll be watching over you when you work,” Anna says. “You’d better behave yourself.”

“I’ll be working in here?” Castiel asks.

“I think it’d be most comfortable here for you,” Mary says. “Those desks used to be for our computers but, well, times change and all. You can move the desks around, set them up where you like, no one really uses this room beyond borrowing books from time to time. I’ll get you your own laptop, of course; I don’t have a spare right now. If there’s anywhere else in the house you’d prefer to work, that’s fine as well.”

“What about sleeping?” Castiel asks. “This room is cozy but I don’t think the couch is long enough.”

“Oh, you can pick your own room.” At Castiel’s panicked look, Mary adds, “You don’t need to pick _right now_ , goodness. I’ll just show you which ones are off-limits, the rest are fair game. Hell, you can move between rooms as many times as you like, even.”

“What about if Cas wants to bring company over?” Anna asks.

“Funny,” Castiel says dryly.

Mary smacks Anna’s arm lightly, and turns a warm smile to Castiel. “I know you’re not interested in that kind of company now, but you might change your mind—”

“I doubt it,” Castiel says.

“—and you just might make other friends, who knows? And of course you can bring them over, but please tell me beforehand so I can give Meg and Pam the head’s up.”

Mary has staff as well, apparently, all of whom live on the grounds though all of them also have part-time jobs with other houses in the neighborhood. Meg and Pamela are her domestic staff (“More like personal assistants sometimes, really,” Mary says), and there’s Benny who’s the cook and sometimes driver, and Joshua the gardener.

“They’re not here all the time,” Mary says. “There was much more to do when John was alive and my boys were still around but… well. I keep them on because it can be really hectic during family gatherings and such, but all of them take part-time jobs elsewhere when I don’t need them. I’ll introduce you in a bit, of course.”

This is an excellent time for Castiel to point out that he could still get a place nearby, close enough that he can come over whenever he’s needed, but not actually stay here. He’s Mary’s friend, but she’s also paying him for labor, _but_ she’s also setting him up in one of the guest rooms in the house and has invited him to join her yoga classes. This is unusual enough in itself without there being other people in the house to deal with.

Yet the question dies in Castiel’s throat when he sees Mary’s unabashed happiness. She comes off as a generally content person, but today she is radiating the kind of exuberance that Castiel’s only ever associated with the joy Anna gets whenever she’s _finally_ completed one of her pieces that’s been months in the making. It is unnerving, in the sense that Castiel wonders if there’s more to his presence than having a research assistant for her thesis.

Maybe Anna was right on the money when she’d said that Mary’s feeling lonely in the near-empty house. It might seem like an ‘obvious’ thing, but Castiel doesn’t like assuming – Mary could very well be perfectly content with having so much space for herself. At the same time, there’s no denying that Mary is talking unusually quickly in describing the house and what Castiel can do here and what Mary can do for him – as though time is of the essence, and as though there’s a worry that Castiel will retract his agreement to move in if she doesn’t lay her case out as thoroughly as possible.

“That sounds wonderful,” Castiel says at last. “Maybe I can put my things here first, before I choose a room?”

Mary smiles, and Castiel catches a flash of relief in her eyes before she turns away.


	2. watch out here i come

The fact is, Castiel doesn’t make friends easily. He never has, though it wasn’t much of a problem growing up because he’d never thought of it as a deficiency. He has his family, after all – Anna, Michael, Balthazar, Luke – and though they don’t always get along, they have each other’s backs when it really matters; which shows that relationships need not be friendly in order to be functional and meaningful. Of course, that was before his career fell apart and Castiel learned some truths about himself, necessitating his reconnecting with Anna in new ways and with new appreciation.

Anyway. Castiel’s social skills leave a lot to be desired, so his relationship with Mary is anomalous. Mary herself is an anomaly, having somehow struck up a conversation with Castiel the day they met, and surprising him with candidness that invited candidness in return, which somehow snowballed into his temporarily moving into her house.

This friendship is unusual to Castiel to begin with, so to add living arrangements on top of that is either a mark of extreme confidence, or extreme foolishness.

Castiel moves into a guest room on the first floor, close to the second staircase on the east wing that leads up to the study that is to be his work office. An intense bout of online shopping has Castiel’s working necessities arriving on Mary’s doorstep in a few days, shiny new laptop and accessories included. Castiel learns the rhythm of the house: Mary wakes before sunrise and usually goes into the gardens to enjoy the fresh air and chat with Joshua for a while; a hearty breakfast follows, and then Mary works intermittently until the early afternoon, after which she usually goes out to meet people, or attend classes, or go shopping with Benny – Pam and Meg go around cleaning during this period. In the evening Mary returns and lazes in the pool or watches TV, and then there’s dinner.

The thing that Castiel dislikes about living with people are the demands that are inherent to the arrangement – financially, socially, emotionally, etc. That is why Castiel very contentedly lived alone for so long, until circumstances necessitated his moving in with Anna. Mary, however, seems to treasure her personal time as much as Castiel does, and made it clear on his first day that he should feel comfortable to come and go and use the facilities as he pleases, and not think that he owes it to her to be at her every beck and call.

It takes little more than a week, but Castiel finds his own rhythm. He joins Mary for breakfast, during which they chat and review the work they’ll be doing for the day. Over the morning Castiel may drop by Mary’s office, or she drops by the library to discuss things. Castiel keeps working long after Mary’s done for the day, though he takes his own breaks whenever he likes and sometimes joins Mary in whatever she’s doing. It’s easy and, although there is work involved, undemanding.

One evening, as they’re having post-dinner cocktails (well, Mary is having a cocktail, while Castiel is having an excellent ice-blended smoothie), the conversation turns to Anna.

“Anna never told me how you two met,” Castiel says. “I know she’s been making art for you for a while, but not how that started.”

“Oh, I took an art class ages and ages ago,” Mary says. “She was one of the instructors, but she didn’t stay for very long. Which is just as well, since neither did I. I can’t remember exactly how it went, but I think it really took off when I admired a print shirt she was wearing, and she said that it was her own design, and we went for coffee after that? I was curious if I could have shirts of my own done for the family reunion.”

“Shirts for a family reunion?”

“Oh, it’s a thing we do,” Mary says, and for a moment she sounds tired. “My grandfather started it when I was still a child. Every year the whole clan gets together for some big event somewhere. He’d book out a whole resort or something stupid like that, just so we could be a family menace wherever we wanted.”

“You didn’t enjoy those gatherings,” Castiel says.

“It was exciting at first, sure, but after a while it just felt more like lip service? Or maybe that’s just me, I don’t know. One of my cousins is in charge of that now, and a few years ago he got it into his head that we should have themed shirts every year, and they’re hideous. I thought Anna could propose something nicer.”

“Did she?”

Mary smiles over the rim of her glass. “Her final design was so beautiful I didn’t want to share it with anyone.”

Castiel laughs. “How selfish.”

“Alas,” Mary says. “I hope she’s settled in all right, I haven’t received any word lately.”

“By lately you mean for two whole days.” It’s really nice how Mary worries, but Anna is more hardy than all of Castiel’s other siblings combined. Anna’s latest commission has taken her upstate, which is such a tremendous opportunity; Castiel would be the worst person in the world if he got in the way of her success. Castiel suspects that’s another reason Mary made the offer she did, making sure that her friend would not have to worry about the sibling she’d suddenly found herself responsible for in the past year. “She probably forgot to update us in all the excitement of moving.”

“She’s sent nothing to you either?” Mary asks.

“I’m in the same message group as you.”

Mary huffs faintly. “I’d hardly know it for how often you send anything. Or _don’t_ send anything.”

“I already live here. What could I possibly update her about that you haven’t already covered?”

“I’m sure that makes perfect sense to your sister.”

Castiel takes a long sip from his glass, chastened. “You’re right. Thank you. I forget sometimes that that’s important.”

“What, keeping in contact?” Mary asks.

“That people who care about you would like to know what’s going on with you. I know it’s silly, but…”

“Why is it silly?”

“Because _I_ don’t stop caring about people even though I don’t interact with them often? No, that doesn’t sound right. I… think it’s that I don’t find constant interaction _conditional_ to my caring about the people I care for. I know that’s not exactly good, and that it’s through positive interaction that you show people you care, but I keep forgetting that. I don’t know why,” Castiel finishes weakly.

Mary’s smile is warm and non-judgmental, as Castiel knew it would be. “It’s nice that you’re trying. Does it tire you out?”

“Yes, sometimes,” Castiel admits. “But I suppose most things that are worthwhile require hard work.” He’s about to add, ‘ _Like marriage_ ,’ but stops himself in time. Mary’s mentioned her late husband and children many times before, but in nothing more than positive anecdotes from the past. It doesn’t feel like a dangerous topic, and Castiel thinks that if he brought it up Mary would be happy to elaborate, but there’s probably a reason that he’s known Mary for months and lived with her for a few weeks and she’s offered nothing more substantial on the topic.

Instead, Castiel lets his eye drift to the portrait hanging on the wall next to the bar. It’s not really an oil painting but it’s made to look like one, the subjects rendered in bright colors against the dark, gothic background. In the forefront are Mary and her husband John, sitting on a plush red love seat, with Mary in a pale blue gown that hides her feet and John in a sharp suit with a high collar. Their boys, still teenagers at the time of the painting, stand behind them, both in suits. It would be an overly somber piece if everyone weren’t offering various types of smiles – the taller boy smirking, the shorter one earnest, John showing his teeth as though he knows exactly how handsome he is, and Mary on the verge of laughter as though she knows exactly how ridiculous the whole thing might look when put together.

“I wish I could’ve met your husband,” Castiel says.

“I don’t know if he would’ve liked you,” Mary replies, forthright as always. “But that’s all right. He never liked this house either. He liked parts _of_ it, but not the whole thing. Too big.”

“Your boys felt the same?”

“If they did, they never said.” Mary turns away for a moment, lost in thought. “I think I raised them all right, they wouldn’t have… Never mind. I think I’m going to call it a night, if you’re okay with that?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Castiel stands up when Mary does, and takes her glass from her. “Good night, Mary. I hope I didn’t overstep myself.”

“Don’t be silly,” Mary says. “I’m just tired, thank you for joining me for drinks. Good night.”

Castiel watches her leave, and then turns back to the portrait. It must be ten years old or more, judging from Mary’s face and the style of her hair. There are plenty of framed photos all over the house, but most of them are artistic pieces of random objects or beautiful backgrounds, which makes Castiel think that someone in this family enjoys photography. The more personal photos are in Mary’s study (and bedroom, perhaps?) either propped up in simpler frames or stored in one of the dozens of monstrous, leather-bound photo albums. Castiel wonders if that has always been the arrangement, or if Mary moved all the photos there at some point so her boys – John included – could keep her company.

  


* * *

  


Another tricky part about staying in Mary’s house is that Castiel doesn’t have a car. Anna’s taken her car with her to New York, and Castiel’s already on awkward footing with Benny thanks to the kitchen situation, so he would rather not use his services unless it’s for work.

(The kitchen situation: Benny cooks extra since Castiel is Mary’s guest, but sometimes Castiel wants to make his own things, which necessitates encroaching on Benny’s territory. Benny is polite about it, but Castiel can tell it doesn’t sit well, and he tries his best to leave absolutely everything where he found it, and keep as few things as possible in the main fridge.)

The town is technically walking distance, albeit over some hilly terrain, so Castiel doesn’t mind making the long trek out when he’s feeling up for it and the weather is good. The tricky part is that this upsets Mary, who says, “No, no, no, please, if you don’t want to take Benny, at least take the Beetle, I’ll give you the keys,” which makes Castiel feel worse.

Solution: Castiel buys a bicycle. Well, he gets one from the sports store in town (along with a helmet and pads) after getting Mary’s blessing, which means that Castiel has the means to go traipsing into town when he has the hankering for diner food, or to get materials from the library, or for a simple change of scenery.

Of course, the spirit may be willing but the flesh not necessarily so. The first two times he takes the bike out he’s winded before he even reaches town. Castiel biked regularly in college but that was years ago and although he’d vaguely known that he’s not as fit as he used to be, he hadn’t realized that it was _this_ bad.

For Castiel’s third biking trip out – just to see Anna’s apartment again – upon his return to the house he’s greeted by the sight of Meg waiting for him in the garage, one hand on her hip and the other holding out a water bottle. “For the sir,” she says, her tone as dry as Castiel’s throat feels.

“Got one,” Castiel manages, gesturing at the bottle clipped to the bike’s frame.

“Then why aren’t you drinking already? Empty?” Meg holds her bottle out again. “Come on.”

Castiel takes the bottle sheepishly, and manages a “Thanks,” before he’s guzzling down. The deep gulps of cool water may not directly help his shaking calves, but it’s the thought that counts. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and finds himself once again subject to Meg’s squint. “I’ll do better next time.”

“About the bringing water with you part, or the not straining yourself part?”

“Both.” Castiel looks down at his stomach, at the pudge he’d accumulated from years of desk work, and sighs. “I haven’t been taking very good care of myself.”

Meg hums thoughtfully. “There is a gym, you know.”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

“What’s stopping you then, no gym clothes? Not enough free time in your hectic schedule?”

Castiel looks up at Meg, and her expression is amused and only lightly mocking. “I suppose I wouldn’t know where to start,” he says.

“Well, if you can fit it in between your other strenuous activities,” Meg says, taking the empty bottle back from him, “you can do a little research on that. We have the interwebs, too.”

“Oh.” Castiel hadn’t thought about that. How is it that he’s had all this time to think about himself, and he hadn’t pondered this? Oh, he’d started eating more greens and trying out new cuisines thanks to Anna, but he hadn’t put any thought into his health. When was the last time he had a check-up? He must have done it for work but goodness knows if he can remember any of the details.

“And I’m gonna go in,” Meg says loudly, pulling Castiel out from his thoughts. “You want Benny to make you a banana smoothie or something?”

“Oh, no, thank you, Meg.” Castiel nods. “Much appreciated.”

Meg hums again, a strange little tune that Castiel’s starting to think of as her calling card, not that he has an idea what said tune is meant to convey. As he watches her wander off into the house, he realizes that that is the longest conversation he’s had with any of Mary’s other staff; Pamela’s friendly enough but does her own thing, Joshua barely notices him, and Benny is… Benny. It’s not that Castiel’s trying to avoid any of them, but this is their territory and he’s the one encroaching on it, so it’s up to them to set the tone for any interaction.

Castiel decides that Meg’s comment was helpful, and that he will make use of it.

  


* * *

  


Mary, of course, has a lot of advice to give when Castiel raises the topic. She doesn’t watch her diet _that_ closely, she says, but the staff know her general health issues and adjust her meals accordingly, so they can do the same for Castiel, if he likes. Mary also swims, does yoga, plays tennis and a number of other things that make Castiel realize he might be a few decades too late to catch up in any meaningful way.

“Don’t be silly,” Mary tells him over breakfast one day. “It’s never too late to make a change. Go for it! You sure you don’t want to join me for yoga? I know some great stretches to help with your posture.”

Castiel automatically straightens in his seat. “Is my posture that poor?”

“It’s not that bad, but stretching can do wonders for your back and your sleeping patterns, I swear by it.”

Castiel reaches back, pressing his knuckles against his lower back. “It does hurt sometimes when I’ve been sitting too long.” He doesn’t add that his usual strategy for dealing with it is to ignore it, because the discomfort goes away eventually. When Mary starts elaborating more on stretches and sleep hygiene, Castiel wonders if perhaps this is another one of those things he should have paid attention to, but didn’t, and he’ll be paying the price for it for years to come.

In the end, Castiel doesn’t join Mary for yoga classes, but he lets her teach him a few stretches, and over the next few days he stops feeling self-conscious whenever anyone (usually Meg, one time Joshua) catches him doing it outside on terrace. It’s a nice terrace, with more of the dark brick that seems to be thematic of the house in general, and with the swimming pool nearby it’s nice to have a body of water to look at when he’s trying to ‘get to know [his] body’ (Mary’s words).

Stretches on the terrace soon make way to high-impact exercises on the terrace, plus some experiments with skipping rope and weights that Castiel doesn’t really care for. Biking is nice, though – Castiel likes the feel of the wind, the burn in his thighs, the acute awareness of the body’s balance as he navigates his way along roads and through scenery. Unfortunately he can’t bike around the house, so he settles for high-impact sprints around the pool in the morning (after the sun comes up, because he’s not as diligent as Mary in waking early), and the occasional ride in the afternoon when he’s in the mood.

“We still have a gym,” Meg reminds him one morning, just as he’s catching his breath after the third cycle of sprints. “Are treadmills against your religion or something?”

“I,” Castiel heaves for breath. “Nicer outdoors.”

“Hmm,” Meg says. “Protip: better sunscreen.”

Castiel squints up at the sky. “Recommendations?”

Meg doesn’t give him recommendations, but a few sample-sized bottles of sunscreen end up in his bathroom the day after, which Castiel thinks should be creepy, but he honestly finds convenient and efficient.

The exercise makes Castiel feel better too, just like Mary said it might. He’s able to get into a good rhythm at work, which is helpful when he has to process lengthy documents and read small, faded print in old books. His sleep improves as well, which is a surprise for he’d thought that his sleeping patterns were already as good as they could get after he’d stopped having late nights at the office.

All of that is a pretty excellent pay-off for having to battle his own body and count down the sometimes _interminable_ minutes of sprints and cycles. Not to mention there’s the joy of dealing with sweat; faint, manageable drops at first, and then when he passes the threshold there’s the release of eerie rivulets that rush down the valley of his spine and between his pecs, to settle in his navel and against the elastic band of his shorts. Castiel doesn’t remember it being this bad when he was younger, so perhaps this is just a thing that happens when one is out of shape and trying to get back into shape.

One afternoon, Castiel is exactly in this state of sweat-soaked depravity and fetching his usual post-workout drink from the kitchen, when a stranger walks into the room.

Castiel does register someone entering the kitchen, but since his attention is on the rising level of water in his glass, he doesn’t pay it any mind until a sharp, unfamiliar voice barks, “Who the hell are you?”

Castiel looks up. There’s a man in the kitchen, and it’s not Benny or Joshua, and it doesn’t seem to be anyone Castiel’s met before, though admittedly he has a poor memory for faces. Castiel is also exhausted and thirsty, so it’s understandable that it takes his brain a second too long to register the implications of there being a tall, angry, strong-looking man in the house.

“What?” Castiel says.

“You heard me,” the man says. “What are you doing in here?”

“I live here?” Something in Castiel’s brain tries to kick him to attention, parsing the man’s aggressive body language. Actually, that scowl looks familiar; maybe it’s someone Castiel worked with before because goodness knows plenty of people have made that face at him, and the longer Castiel looks at him, the more certain he becomes that he’s seen those eyes before.

“You live… _here_?” the stranger says incredulously.

No, not a stranger, Castiel realizes. He’s one of Mary’s boys, for Castiel’s seen those eyes in the family portrait, though damned if he can remember which face they belong to. Not to mention that Mary always refers to them as “my eldest” and “my youngest”, the way she tends to refer to John as “my husband” instead of by name, which Castiel found charming as a quirk but has resulted in his having a severe deficiency in this moment.

Castiel could’ve sworn Mary’s boys were younger, too. Maybe listening to Mary calling them ‘boys’ all the time left Castiel unprepared for a fit, sturdy man around Castiel’s age, and a little taller than Castiel to boot, which is faintly annoying because Castiel is used to being the tallest (or one of the tallest) in his social circles.

“Oh, you’re Dean,” he says at last.

The man keeps scowling, and Castiel wonders if maybe he’d shot for the wrong name. “Mary’s not in at the moment,” Castiel adds, “she went out for tea with some friends. She should be back soon, though. I’m Cas—just, just Cas.”

He starts to offer his hand, only to remember that he’s still filling up his glass. He turns off the tap and starts to offer it again, but the man – Dean, hopefully – is too busy studying him to be interested in a handshake. His narrowed, scrutinizing eyes make Castiel acutely aware of the heat in his post-exercise swollen face, and the now-cold stickiness of lightweight cotton blend against his body.

“Did Benny quit or something?” Dean asks.

“Ah, no, he drove Mary to her appointment.”

“Okay, so who are you?”

“Cas, I said.”

“No, _no_ , I mean… Why are you here, right now?”

“Uh, I just finished my workout,” Castiel says. “And I was going to take a shower, my room is just back there.”

Dean’s eyes flicker in the direction Castiel points, and then another alarming change passes over his face. “Your room,” he says in a low voice.

Truth be told, there are some circumstances where Castiel would be intimidated by Dean’s attempt to loom over him threateningly, but today is not one of those circumstances, regardless of Dean’s apparent belief that Castiel is intruder. Dean looks strong but Castiel could probably take him, though of course he doesn’t _want_ to, because it would upset Mary.

“Perhaps you should call Mary and ask her to explain,” Castiel says. “I would like to have my shower.”

Dean seems to want to argue further, but is stopped when Pamela comes into the kitchen. She exclaims surprise over Dean’s arrival (he _is_ Dean, thank goodness) and immediately takes his bouquet of flowers to put in a vase. Castiel hadn’t even noticed that he was carrying flowers.

“Thanks,” Dean says, apparently just as relieved to see Pamela. He makes a gesture with his head, which has Pamela following his gaze over to Castiel.

Castiel quickly gulps down his water as Pamela tells Dean, “Ah yes, he’s Mary’s guest, been with us for a while now. She didn’t say anything?”

“No,” Dean says under his breath.

That is Castiel’s cue to make his exit, and he has enough sense to take the door on the other end of the kitchen, away from other awkward questions that Pamela would be better equipped to handle.

  


* * *

  


Castiel stays sequestered in the study for the rest of the day, and only comes out when Mary sends him a text message to join them for dinner. ‘ _Them_ ’, said the message, which means that Dean will be there, which means that Castiel shall have to start another arduous round of getting to know someone new all over again.

Still, Castiel puts a little more effort into dressing up for dinner, combing his hair and taking more than two seconds to pick out a shirt to wear. Dean is Mary’s family, after all, which means that Castiel is obligated by virtue of his caring for Mary to make a decent impression. Or, at least, to improve upon the poor impression he’d made earlier in the day.

When Castiel makes his way down to the primary dining room, Mary and Dean are already there, standing by the drinks table and chatting. They turn at his entry, and Mary’s face lights up, while Dean does a very decent double-take that pings Castiel’s sometimes-dormant sense of vanity. Sadly, the double-take turns into another mild scowl, though this time Castiel has better command of cognitive thought and doesn’t take it personally.

“You look very nice,” Mary says. “See, now I can do this properly. Dean, this is Cas, and Cas, this is my eldest, Dean.”

“Nice to finally meet you, Dean.” Castiel offers his hand, which Dean shakes after a moment, his calloused hand displaying a firm grip. In fact, everything about Dean screams solid, sturdy, strong – an adult in every way. Hence, Castiel probably should not be thinking about the story Mary once shared about the time when Dean was a toddler and he accidentally ate one of the silicone buds of Mary’s earphones, and she and John had to be on alert to find the bud in Dean’s poop.

“Yep.” Dean turns back to his mother. “Man, I’m starving.”

“Of course honey.” Mary brushes her hand along Dean’s arm as she guides him to the table. “Did you get any sleep on the plane?”

“You should’ve just stopped at ‘plane’.”

“Ah.” Mary takes the seat at the head of the oblong table, which is usually where she sits anyway. Castiel takes his regular seat at an angle from her, which means that Dean is directly across from him. As per social norms, Castiel offers a smile, but Dean just turns his attention back to Mary.

Castiel doesn’t mind. He thinks he should feel self-conscious, but truth be told he’s sat through far more awkward dinners, and here at least he can get away with focusing all his energy on eating while mother and son catch up.

Mary doesn’t let him, though. After some banter where Mary teases Dean about work and Dean brushes off her worries, Mary turns to Castiel says, “Pam said that Dean thought you were staff?”

“Mom,” Dean starts.

“I _am_ staff,” Castiel says.

Mary shakes her head. “No, you are helping me with my doctorate, but we’re friends first and foremost.”

Castiel smiles. “Thank you, I appreciate that.”

“What, what kind of help do you need?” Dean asks. “I mean, I know you’re doing a write-up about the town’s history—”

“It’s a little more significant than a write-up,” Mary says.

“—yeah, of course, but what does he… what do _you_ actually do?”

“I sift through the information,” Castiel says. “Mary has done all the legwork, collecting documents from the mayor’s office, town hall, library, and doing all those interviews. I mostly type and scan things in to digital format, and cross-reference information before sending it to Mary for the actual analysis.”

“So it’s like… data entry?” Dean says.

“Yes, it’s very soothing,” Castiel says. “Though I also discuss the topic with Mary, to find gaps in the thesis and other issues that might be worth looking at.”

“And you do this on top of your day job?” Dean asks.

“This is my day job.”

Dean blinks in surprise. “You’re not doing anything else?”

“Honey, he’s not unemployed,” Mary says, sounding a little exasperated. “He’s working for me.”

“I thought you just said I’m _not_ your staff,” Castiel can’t resist saying.

Mary gives him a look. “You know what I mean. Cas is a huge help to me, especially now I’m trying to push on before the semester’s over. I’ve already taken two extensions; I can’t afford to take another one.”

Dean bobs his head as though in acknowledgement, and takes a slow gulp of his wine.

It’s not the worst dinner in the world, but even Castiel cannot fail to notice that the ease of their regular meals has been altered. His initial assumption would be that it’s entirely due to his presence, which would naturally upend the regular family dynamic, but then he has half-second glimpses of frustration in Mary’s face, which is something Castiel knows well-enough from his own family experiences and has learned to recognize in the nuances of Mary’s body language.

When Dean changes topic loudly and pointedly to something someone named Charlie has done, there’s another one of those glimpses – Mary’s mouth briefly drops in dismay before snapping back up into a wide smile when she asks for further details.

Surely Mary cannot have invited Castiel to dinner as some sort of buffer between her and her son.

But if she has, Castiel must rise up to the challenge.

“Who’s Charlie?” Castiel asks.

Dean starts a little, as though he’d forgotten that Castiel was here. “A friend.”

“She and Dean went to college together, thick as thieves,” Mary says. “She helped Dean set up his business, before she moved on to develop a publishing house.”

“Oh, Dean’s business,” Castiel says. “Do you mean the car restoration business?”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean says. “It’s nothing much.”

“Don’t be modest, Dean,” Mary says. “The work he does is amazing. Once you get him going on the topic sometimes it’s hard to get him to stop.”

“Mom, I don’t wanna…”

“Got that from John,” Mary says. At the mention of his father’s name Dean swallows, eyes cast down, and an almost hallowed silence settles in the room. Remembering ghosts can be unpleasant, but not always, and Castiel thinks back on his own family gatherings that had similar moments when their mother – and later, their father – was mentioned. Even Luke managed to be respectful at those times.

Dean breaks the silence by saying, “Nah, got that from you as well.”

Mary laughs. “The tenacious part, I suppose.”

“You said it, not me,” Dean says. “At least I’m not going for a Ph.D. as a hobby.”

“Well, pardon _me_ ,” Mary says. “Neither of my boys became doctors, so someone had to pick up the slack.” Dean snorts and laughs.

Castiel smiles. He may not know precisely what’s going on, but Mary’s relaxed a little, and that’s good enough.


	3. bang bang bang on the door, baby

The thing is, Castiel thinks he could be kindred spirits with Dean, who seems to be a solemn, perpetually irritable sort of guy. Castiel respects that. Of course, this Dean doesn’t match with Mary’s stories of a charming, rambunctious little boy, or the stories of an awkward, posturing teenaged boy, but that doesn’t mean much in the scheme things. Basically, Castiel thinks that he and Dean could find common ground easily, but Dean doesn’t seem to be interested, keeping all their conversations short and clipped whenever Mary isn’t around. Castiel respects that, too.

Of course, none of this would matter at all if the extent of Castiel’s interaction with Dean was to be that one singular dinner. Castiel rather assumed it would be, seeing that as he’s spent almost two months in Mary’s house without seeing him or his brother at all. Everyone has their own life to live, and sometimes those lives keep them elsewhere and away from family members they love. There was a period in Castiel’s life where he saw Anna maybe twice a year, so who is Castiel to judge if Dean lives less than an hour from Mary’s house and hasn’t come to visit for a while, or that Mary didn’t tell either of her sons about her friendship with Castiel, let alone that he’d moved into her home?

Families are complicated, no matter what they look like or how much love is involved.

Castiel assumes this complication is what leads to Dean coming to the house again and again the days that follow the dinner, dropping by at irregular times. Like the altered rhythm of dinnertime, the rhythm of the house is altered as well.

The first time it’s in late morning, so Mary drops out of her usual work routine to go to the movies with her son. The next is for dinner, though this time Castiel doesn’t have to join them. Another time Castiel’s so immersed in categorizing Mary’s landscape photos that he almost jumps out of his skin when the study door opens and Dean comes barging in, freezing in his tracks when he sees Castiel.

“Uh,” Dean says, “sorry.”

“No, it’s all right.” Castiel gestures at the shelves. “Please go ahead, it’s your library.” He returns to work, and after a beat Dean enters the room properly, honing in on a specific shelf that he browses for a while before leaving with a couple of books.

There’s more where that came from, too. Castiel’s used to crossing paths with Mary’s staff in the house, so it should be a minor adjustment to encounter Dean here as well, except this is Dean’s house too, so Castiel must defer to him – moving aside when they meet in a hallway, or finding an excuse to leave a room that Dean obviously wants to use. Castiel doesn’t mind any of it, because at least it means he doesn’t have to exert any extra energy into figuring out someone who has no interest in being figured out.

One early morning Castiel comes down for the usual breakfast on the terrace with Mary, and for the first time Dean is there as well, sitting in what is normally Castiel’s seat. Castiel starts to leave but Mary spots him and waves him over. “Coffee’s still hot!” she calls out.

Castiel goes reluctantly, taking one of the remaining metal mesh chairs and trying not to feel sheepish. The extent of his pre-breakfast routine nowadays is to brush his teeth and pull on a pair of pants, and can anyone blame him? This isn’t a hotel, it’s not like Mary cares, and with the terrace (and breakfast!) so close to his bedroom it just seems nonsensical to waste mental energy getting fully dressed before there’s something decent in his stomach.

Mary pours out another cup of coffee. Castiel accepts it with a nod and successfully does not pat down his messy hair or pluck at his faded sleep shirt. Castiel also decides to think positive and believe that Dean is being polite by averting his eyes from Castiel altogether. How does Dean even manage to be well-coiffed this early in the morning? He may be dressed in his usual casual plaid and jeans, but as always he looks like he just stepped out of one of those magazines that Anna swears she’s not hoarding in her closet.

Not to mention that with the commute from his house, Dean must have left at the crack of dawn to get here so early. Mary seems to have a similar thought because she says, “With you coming over so often, you might as well move back in.”

“What, back into my old room?” Dean says with a smirk. “Put my posters back on the wall?”

“You know I don’t judge,” Mary says airily, while Dean makes a face. “Cas, do you have a full work plan for today? I’m going to have to take another day off.”

Castiel nods and takes a piece of toast from the rack. “You’re the boss. I have plenty to do, it’ll be fine.”

“But you might have to join us for lunch,” Mary says. “Rowena’s coming over and she would take it personally if I don’t introduce you.”

“ _Rowena_ knows about this guy?” Dean says. “Sorry, sorry, I’m just surprised, is all.”

“She has to know about Cas,” Mary says. “I’m using the grant to pay for his allowance.”

“Oh, right,” Dean says.

Mary turns back to Castiel and says, “Rowena’s my financial adviser.”

Castiel may not be operating at 100% yet, but he thinks there’s an undercurrent of dismay in Dean’s voice. It’s generally hard to read Dean when he’s not talking to Mary, but there are exceptions. “I can be out of the house,” Castiel suggests. “I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your meeting.”

“You’re not in the way,” Mary says.

Castiel takes that statement for what it is, but he lingers longer than normal with his coffee, waiting until Mary leaves to freshen up. Dean stays back because he’s finishing his eggs, so Castiel gets to tell him privately, “I can go into town, and not come back until late.”

Dean looks up from his plate, startled. “What?” he says, around a mouthful eggs.

“If it’s uncomfortable for me to be here, I can just not come back on time. I understand.”

Dean swallows his food. “Um.”

“I’m not trying to insinuate myself into the situation here.” Castiel thinks of his own childhood, of watching Michael and Luke vying for father’s attention long after it was clear that there could be no winner, not with their father being the way he was. Mary is a much better parent, but that may just deepen Dean’s devotion to her, along with the potential discomfort at seeing what may look like an interloper from the outside. “I think it’s wonderful that you’re trying to look out for your mother. I don’t know if it’d help, but I wanted to say that I have no interest in usurping anyone, or anything like that.”

Dean normally has few words for Castiel, so he’s not surprised by the lack of response. Castiel still waits for one, just in case.

“You think I don’t want you here?” Dean says at last.

“That possibility occurred to me, but I didn’t think it was the _only_ possibility,” Castiel says. “But I do believe my presence makes you uncomfortable, which I understand perfectly. You did come early today to sit with Mary while she discusses her portfolio?”

Dean clenches his jaw. “Yeah.”

“That’s very responsible.” Castiel decides to be polite and not bring up Dean’s constant presence over the past few days either, or question how that would be possible if he has a day job elsewhere. “I don’t mind staying out of the house.”

“Jesus, don’t do that,” Dean says in exasperation. “The last thing Mom needs is to know that I kicked you out.”

“You’re not kicking me out, I’d be making a temporary strategic retreat.” Castiel schools his face into a courteous expression while Dean eyeballs him. “Completely consensual on my part.”

It’s a pity that Dean looks so pinched most of the time. He’s inherited his parents’ good looks but he keeps making that face—actually, that’s an unfair thought. How many times have people asked Castiel to stop squinting at everything? Castiel hadn’t even realized it was a habit, so he should think more kindly about Dean’s perpetual half-sneer. Dean probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing it either.

“If this is some passive aggressive shit—” Dean says.

“It’s not.” Castiel stands up. “I’ll go, it’s all right.”

“No, no, come on, don’t.” Dean waves a hand. “Mom said you should hang around, so hang around. Don’t wanna piss off Rowena, either.”

Dean sounds earnest enough, at least about keeping to the letter of what Mary wants. Castiel would willingly stay away from the house if it would help, but here he and Dean have a common desire to respect Mary’s wishes. Mary is stubborn and passionate to a fault sometimes, and if she thinks Castiel should stay even if it may result in unnecessary tension in the house, then Castiel shall. It’s nice that Dean respects that, too.

Castiel returns to his room feeling a warm glow of accomplishment, and that feeling stays with him all through the morning’s work up until he gets the text message from Mary to join them downstairs.

At first Castiel heads to the primary dining room, but he passes by Meg in the hallway and she jerks her head in the other direction. Castiel detours to the secondary dining room, which is large enough it could be a ballroom if they threw open the terrace doors and extended it with a canopy. The long dining table here has been set up such that one end is their work station with a pair of laptops and various folders – which are currently being cleared up by Dean – while the other end has been set up with their lunch.

Mary stands up when Castiel enters the room, as does a diminutive woman who immediately offers Castiel her hand, palm down, which necessitates some subtle maneuvering before Castiel can shake it properly. “Ah, the research assistant,” Rowena says. “Cas, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Castiel says. “I hope you had a good session.”

“Yes, it’s pretty good,” Mary says. “Helped a lot to have an extra pair of ears, too.”

Rowena flicks one perfectly manicured fingernail in Dean’s direction, as though plucking an invisible guitar string. “More than just a pretty face, that one.”

“Hey now,” Dean says, “I got an image going.”

“This whole house does,” Rowena says, almost gleefully. “I’m very happy you could join us, Cas. The more the merrier.”

Mary pats Castiel’s arm as they make their way down to the lunch setting. “I’m really sorry, but I made the mistake of mentioning that you like playing cards, so Rowena’s asked if you’re up for a round of something after lunch.”

“’Something’ sounds a little vague,” Castiel says.

“I have a great fondness for gin,” Rowena says. “It’s almost as great as my fondness for men who’re good with their hands.”

Mary laughs. “Don’t scare him.”

Rowena takes a seat at the lunch setting and looks up at Castiel as he helps her chair in. “ _Am_ I scary, love?”

“A little,” Castiel says. “But I could just be saying that to put you off your guard so I’ll beat you at gin.”

Dean snorts, but Rowena makes a delighted sound and says, “And a mouth on him, too! What do Sophia and Lorraine think of young Cas here?”

Mary laughs. “They haven’t met him, thank goodness.”

“Ah, I’m the first?” Rowena says. “I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be,” Mary says, in a tone that has Rowena grinning with good humor. “You know how some people talk, it can get so petty. Cas is my friend, who happens to be helping me with work, and I’d rather keep that separate from everything else.”

Castiel nods along with Mary’s explanation, because none of it is news to him. He has no interest in meeting any of Mary’s socialite friends, whom Mary’s said share very little in common with Anna and him, but Castiel assumes provide for Mary’s other emotional needs. Castiel is pleased when Rowena inclines her head respectfully, but Dean actually looks a little alarmed. At least, Castiel _thinks_ he saw a split second of Dean’s eyes widening in alarm, but it’s gone in a trace, wiped clean by a blank, polite expression.

“I trust you’ll keep Cas’ presence between us as well?” Mary says. 

“Of course,” Rowena says.

They have lunch, during which Castiel learns that Rowena has been handling Mary’s finances for years now. There’s a camaraderie between them that isn’t necessary for their professional relationship, and it makes Castiel think that Rowena knew the Winchesters before John died, and was there with Mary during that awful time. Castiel enjoys watching Mary and Rowena banter over their meal, with Dean occasionally chiming in with some observation or other.

Castiel’s known people like Rowena – smooth, confident, subtly aggressive. Normally Castiel would be more on guard, but passing Mary’s litmus test the way Rowena has means a great deal in Castiel’s book. Castiel supposes that with someone like Rowena guarding her interests, Mary will be comfortable for the rest of her days.

When they finish eating, Pam drops by with a fresh pack of cards for Castiel to crack open.

“And how about you?” Rowena says, peering at Castiel over her interlaced fingers. “How are you enjoying the decadent Winchester lifestyle?”

“The library is very nice,” Castiel says.

Mary clucks her tongue. “You don’t see much else but the library.”

“That is not true,” Castiel says. “I see the dining room and the kitchen. And sometimes the lounge.”

“How about the pool?” Rowena asks.

“I can’t swim,” Castiel says.

“Don’t need to swim to use a pool,” Rowena says. “All that water’s just right for splashin’ around in. Would be a shame to waste it.”

Castiel makes a noncommittal sound and continues to shuffle the cards. Their plates have been cleared away and they’ve moved the chairs closer together, so Mary is near enough to put a hand on Rowena’s arm and shake her head a little. Castiel’s not sure what that’s about, but Rowena inclines her head in acknowledgement and leans back in her seat a little.

“The work must make it all worthwhile, though,” Rowena says. “Mary of course won’t let me have one wee tiny glimpse.”

“It’s a work in progress,” Mary says. “You wouldn’t disrespect a work in progress.”

“As long as you don’t make it a challenge, dear.” Rowena makes a sound of delight when Castiel snaps the cards in one hand. “And now we may commence with some arse-kicking.”

Castiel knows better than to underestimate anyone in the room. What makes it enjoyable is that everyone else in the room knows better, too. Castiel basks in Mary’s laughter and Rowena’s sly sense of humor, and even Dean laughs a few times, which changes the shape of his face entirely. Afterward, Castiel messages Anna about it, and expresses his regret that she couldn’t be there to join them, and Anna replies that it’s a good thing she wasn’t otherwise they would’ve all ganged up on her as easy prey. Anna’s logic is sound.

  


* * *

  


As abruptly as Dean’s visits start, they’re over. It’s surprising how a few days of a shifted routine can cause just as unnerving an imbalance when it’s shifted back to normal. On the third day in a row that Castiel doesn’t catch a flash of plaid or hear a muscle car pull up to the house, he wonders if Dean’s returned to his regular life, having accomplished whatever it is he’d wished to accomplish (or given up on, perhaps).

The answer to that is neither, for on the fourth day sans Dean, Mary pops to the study while Cas is working and says, “This is going to sound weird.”

Castiel puts down the folder he’d been reading. “What is?”

“This favor I’m about to ask.”

“Truth be told, I always assume the favors you ask for will be weird.”

“Nice.” Mary leans against Castiel’s desk, taking in the systematic mess of papers he has going on. Most of their thesis-related discussions have taken place in Mary’s study or out on the terrace, so she’s had little pleasure in seeing how he works. “Well, this is bringing back memories.”

“To what?”

“Sam’s room,” Mary says. “Dean’s neat as a pin, but Sam used to have all his schoolwork lying around everywhere, though of course he swore he knew exactly where everything is.”

“That’s relatable,” Castiel says.

“Speaking of Dean!” Mary clasps her hands in front of her, expectant. “There’s a situation. You haven’t, um… You haven’t said anything about Dean’s coming here so often lately.”

“Should I have?” Castiel asks. “I am curious, but…”

“It’s nothing bad,” Mary says quickly. “But it’s, you know… my boys have such rich lives, which is all I’ve ever wanted for them. It’s wonderful, of course. Sam’s working his way up the firm and I suspect he’s going to propose to his girlfriend soon…”

“Ah, congratulations.”

Mary beams. “Thanks. And Dean’s got his restoration business, which I’m so proud of, of course, plus he’s involved with so many projects with his friends, I’m always amazed at how much energy he has.”

“Like Charlie’s publishing business?”

“Yes, exactly, that’s one of them,” Mary says, nodding. “He also has a stake in a family friend’s franchise business, the Harvelles, so he sees them a lot. Sometimes he volunteers for Donna’s self-defense class, and he helps craft things for this gaming group he, Charlie and bunch of others are a part of.”

“That’s… a lot,” Castiel says in surprise.

“Yes, so I felt bad when Dean started coming by so much, when he’s so busy.”

“You’re a priority,” Castiel says. “I think that’s nice.”

“I – I know that, and I do appreciate it. It’s just, sometimes he worries when he shouldn’t have to.” Mary admits that with discomfort, though she smiles when Castiel pats her arm. “I told him as much and I think I might have hurt his feelings.”

“This is unusual?” Castiel asks. “I’m sorry, I don’t know how things are in your family, it’s so different from mine.”

“Of course,” Mary says, ducking her head sheepishly. “To start with, Dean’s stubborn – and I know what you’re thinking.”

“What am I thinking?”

“You’re thinking that the apple doesn’t fall that far from the tree.”

Castiel nods. “That would be true.”

“Ha.” Mary turns away, squinting at nothing in particular. “Dean’s stubborn. When John died he wanted to, you know, be man of the house, take care of everything, take care of me, and that’s not right. He was barely thirty when John passed, his whole life ahead of him, and I’m… well, I’m pretty dang comfortable where I am, don’t you think?”

Castiel tilts his head. “Are you?”

“Yes.” Mary’s answer is firm, confident, though Castiel thinks there was hesitation there, barely perceptible. “So there was a… I thought I was doing the right thing but I might have pushed him too hard, and… there was a period where it wasn’t so good between us. Like – like you and Anna.”

“I’m very sorry about that,” Castiel says. “Anna and I got better.”

“Yes, it’s getting better, too, but…” Mary sighs, and Castiel has the crystal clear realization that she misses her boys, but doesn’t _want_ to miss them. Castiel remembers reading somewhere that familial relationships can change in unexpected ways after trauma, and John’s death was trauma indeed.

“Now you think you’ve pushed him away again,” Castiel says. “Since he’s stopped coming to the house. Again.”

“Yes, exactly. But I don’t _know_.”

“You can ask?” When Mary gives him a look, Castiel says, “All right, you’re of the expert opinion that you can’t ask. What is the favor, then?”

“I made something for Dean. Cooked, actually. And I don’t want to send it to him myself because I don’t want to put him in a corner before he’s ready—” Castiel doesn’t understand the reasoning for that either, why is everything so _complicated_ , “—so I was wondering if maybe, you could deliver it to him for me?”

“Dean doesn’t like me.”

Mary waves that away. “Don’t take it personally, Dean’s like that with practically everyone at first.”

“Really?”

“You know why.”

Castiel feels a shiver move up his spine at the reminder. Having money may be nice and helpful, but it necessitates a certain way of thinking in order to protect oneself.

“The thing is,” Mary says, “I need Benny for the afternoon, I just can’t cancel another appointment. So… will you? You don’t even have to hang around, just give it to him and tell him I love him, and he’ll understand. I think he’ll understand? No, he’ll definitely understand.”

Castiel loves Mary, so he says yes. He picks up the dish from the kitchen, lets Mary key Dean’s address into his phone, and takes the Beetle (thus ruining his resolution not to use any of Mary’s cars). He hasn’t driven for a while but it’s a pretty straightforward task, following the disembodied GPS voice all the way to an attractive apartment building right in the heart of town.

Castiel parks, checks in with reception, and travels up the elevator – all the while hoping that Dean isn’t home. When Castiel finally finds the right door and rings the bell, he waits an appropriate half a minute, and all those hopes are dashed when he hears shuffling noises inside the apartment.

Dean opens the door and makes a face. “What?” he says.

“Mary asked me to bring you some…” Castiel trails off. “You look terrible.”

“Yeah, like you’re so hot,” Dean snaps.

With Mary’s small crock-pot settled in the crook of one arm, Castiel presses his other hand to Dean’s forehead, noting that Dean isn’t warm but his skin is clammy. Dean jerks back at the touch, but Castiel snaps to attention. “You’re sick.”

“Wow,” Dean says flatly. “Y’don’t say.”

“Let me in.” Castiel moves forward, the motion forcing Dean to sway back and out of the way. There’s a counter top nearby, perfect for Castiel to set the food down, and then he’s turning to face Dean properly. His eyes are unfocused and watery, his skin and lips pale, and his sleeping clothes are damp with sweat. Castiel takes in all this information and then some as Dean clumsily locks the door and peers skeptically at the crock-pot on the counter.

“Mary asked me to send this to you,” Castiel says.

Dean pokes at the lid and deflates. “How did she know?”

“Know what?”

“Tomato rice soup. She always…” Dean sighs.

“She didn’t know you were sick. Really, she didn’t. She just thought that maybe... since you’d stopped coming to the house suddenly, that you were mad at her?” Dean swings his head up, probably to glare at Castiel, but he swerves and almost swoons, necessitating Castiel catching him by the arms. Castiel can feel Dean shaking in his grip, and sighs. “Why did you answer the door? Never mind.”

Dean tries to knock Castiel out of the way but it’s evidence of how badly under the weather he is that he can’t manage it. Castiel sets him on a couch – a very nice couch, as part of a very nice living area, though there are too many blankets and pillows, as well as an open laptop on a coffee table.

“You weren’t even in bed,” Castiel says. “You were working.”

Dean grunts.

“Do you have—” Castiel spots Tylenol on the table and nods. “All right. Have you seen a doctor?”

“Dude, I don’t need to—it’s just a bug or something, it’ll go away.”

“It’d probably go away quicker if you had proper sleep.” Castiel stands back and takes full measure of Dean again. He’s tired and dizzy, and his voice is a little hoarse, but overall his condition doesn’t seem critical. Castiel can’t force him to see a doctor, but he can do other things.

“You need a shower,” Castiel says. “You’re filthy.”

Dean squints up at him. “You’re the boss of me now?”

“I’m going to call Mary.”

Dean jolts in alarm. “Hey, no, don’t. It’s not – it’s no big deal, I don’t want her to worry.”

“She will worry if you get worse,” Castiel says. “You will have a shower, or I will tell her.”

“That is uncool.” Dean flails when Castiel pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Hey, hey, fine, I’ll take a shower, geez Louise.”

“Are you dizzy? If you have an inner ear imbalance, I can help—”

“Boundaries, right there.” Dean stands up, shooting a determined squint in Castiel’s direction before disappearing deeper into the apartment. Castiel thinks about asking him to leave his bathroom door open so he can hear if Dean falls or needs help, but that might be pushing it.

With Dean preoccupied, Castiel goes to work. Dean’s microwave is easy enough to figure out, so Castiel heats up the soup and some water, and sets them up on the kitchen countertop with cutlery from remarkably organized drawers. Then there’s Dean’s haphazard coffee table workstation – Castiel knows better than to touch the papers or laptop, but he throws away the used tissues and then bundles up the blankets and pillows.

Castiel stands back and looks around. He’d known from Mary’s comment that Dean’s apartment would be nice, but this isn’t entirely what he’d been expecting. Sure, the place is cozy, comfortable and (aside from the mess in the living room) immaculate, but it’s not just that.

He’s seen homes designed out of indulgence, but Dean has chosen indulgence in the form of guitars on the wall, tall shelves with alternating rows of books and DVDs, and glass cabinets filled with spectacularly detailed human and humanoid creatures instead of china and trophies that Castiel is more used to seeing. The furniture is interesting, too, most of it wooden or in faux wood covering that wouldn’t be out of place in rustic cabin. Well, most of it is wooden – there’s a computer station at one end of the room that is almost art deco, with a grey desktop computer table paired with a grey and black box-shaped swivel chair.

The final effect is a home that’s been made vibrant out of the open passions of its owner. Castiel is tempted to check out the fridge as well, but resists.

He’s standing in the middle of the living room when Dean comes out, having washed and changed and looking slightly better for it.

“Eat,” Castiel says. “Should I move the bowl to the coffee table, or…”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Dean grumbles the whole way but he sits at the counter. “You gonna watch me eat, too?”

“No, I can go, but… will you go to sleep after? And I don’t mean a nap.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I think I know what I can handle.”

“Of course you do.” Castiel gauges the risks, and then takes a step closer, hoping his expression is as non-threatening as is possible. “And I’m sure you have important work to do, but if you keep at it now, how productive will you be? I think you may accomplish more if you let your body recover and come back to it later.”

Dean doesn’t reply, his attention all on the soup in front of him. Castiel waits until Dean takes one spoonful, then another, and the tension in Dean’s face eases away as the food does its trick.

“I’ll let myself out,” Castiel says. “Thank you.”

Dean eyeballs him. “For what?”

“For listening.” Castiel nods and starts to leave, but then turns back. “Um. I think I’m supposed to clarify – you’re _not_ mad at Mary?”

Dean bristles, readying himself for an argument, but then he looks back at the soup and seems to think better of it. “No, I’m not mad.”

“Okay.” Castiel leaves him to it, and makes his way back to Mary’s place.


	4. put up your dukes, let's get down to it

It was a joke before, but Dean does end up moving back into his mother’s home. Castiel learns of this a few days later, when he passes by Pamela as she’s carrying a basketful of linen and other things up the east staircase, which is not her usual route when Mary’s bedroom is on the other end of the second floor.

“Oh yeah, it’s just for a while,” Pamela tells him. “I’m not sure how long, but there’s something up with the apartment, so he’s gonna stay here until it’s settled.”

He asks Mary about it later, and she confirms that Dean will be staying at the house while he does some minor renovations at the apartment. “Of course he won’t tell me exactly what he’s doing,” Mary says in amusement. “The last time he took down one of the walls to set up a gaming station, as if that boy needed an excuse to get a captain’s seat.”

Castiel has no idea what that means, but he assumes it’s a good thing.

Anna, when Castiel texts her about it, seems to find the whole thing amusing. “ _See, now you’ve made me sad I can’t join all the fun_ ,” she sends.

Castiel replies: “ _Fun formatting references and juggling citations?_ ”

“ _You do like it tho_.”

“ _True._ ”

Castiel tries not to feel irritated at the house’s routine being altered again, because it’s not his house, plus he’s a guest who’s only here out of the kindness of his friend’s heart. Also worth focusing on is that this might make Mary happy. It’s true that she’d worried before about Dean spending so much time here, but now there’s a good reason for it, for which Mary should not feel guilty about (or at least, a little less guilty).

Dean moves in while Castiel is holed up in the study, so he only realizes it’s done after the fact, when Castiel goes down to get a late night snack and Dean’s there, talking with Benny.

Castiel hovers just outside the doorway, unsure if he should interrupt the low conversation going on inside, but then decides to hell with it, he’s hungry, so he goes in. He also decides not to be self-conscious when the conversation dies away at his presence, and heads straight for the fridge to see what he can put together.

“Hey, it’s cool,” Dean says to Benny. “Thanks again.”

There’s more soft words and footsteps, and then the tap of a door being closed. Castiel turns from the fridge with an armful of ingredients and is surprised that Dean’s still here, hands in his pockets and not doing anything but standing near the oven.

“Uh, hey,” Dean says. “I’ll be here for a while.”

“Mary told me.” Castiel puts the things down on the counter and starts the formation of a sandwich. “I’m glad you’re better.”

“Yeah. It was, uh, allergies. I love the carpets and usually it’s okay, but sometimes when I’m not home for a while and I get back it’s like – surprise! Niagara Falls.” Dean scratches the back of his neck. “You didn’t tell my mom about it.”

Castiel frowns. “You told me not to.”

“Yeah, but…” Dean stands there awkwardly. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Was I supposed to? I’m sorry, I took it at face value, I didn’t think you meant—”

“Dude, it’s fine. It’s – it’s fine.” Dean clears his throat and crosses his arms. “So yeah, I’m gonna be here until the new flooring comes in.”

“You’re redoing your floors?” Castiel says. “That’s drastic.”

“I’ve been planning to for a while. This was the last straw, I guess.”

Castiel presses the second slice of pastrami on his creation. “Did you want a sandwich as well?”

“What? No! I’m just, um…” Dean scratches the back of his neck. “I’m just surprised you’re in the house. Benny said Mom went out to watch a show.”

“Ballet, I think.”

“Yeah,” Dean says slowly. “Is that… not your thing?”

“Oh!” Castiel says, surprised. “I guess it didn’t occur to me to ask if I could join.”

“She didn’t invite you?”

“That would be strange, I think.” Castiel puts the final slice on his sandwich and presses gently. “Are you sure you don’t want a…” He trails off when he realizes that Dean’s crossed the room, his steps silent until he’s only a few feet away.

Something in Dean’s stance makes Castiel forget everything else – the twinge in his back from hunching over books, the mild rumbling in his stomach, the general lethargy that comes from a full day of work. There’s something different about the way Dean’s holding himself, hands in his pockets and rocking on the balls of his feet.

“You want to have a beer?” Dean asks. “To go with the sandwich, I guess.”

“That’s not my usual choice for a late night snack,” Castiel admits. “Unless this is an attempt to barter your beer for my sandwich?”

“Dude,” Dean says, sounding halfway between amused and exasperated, “I’m sure you think your sandwich is awesome, but there’s no way it can beat one of mine, so you don’t need to be defending it from my evil sandwich-stealing clutches.”

“I’m not defending my sandwich,” Castiel says.

“Sure seems like it.”

Castiel looks down, and sure enough his hands are curled protectively over his sandwich plate. He laughs a little and pulls his hands away. “You’re certainly confident about _your_ sandwich-making capabilities.”

“Well, yeah,” Dean says, unrepentant. “I know good when I see it. Anyway, I’m going up to watch a movie, you can join me if you want with that beer. And… your sandwich.”

It’s then that Castiel realizes what’s different about Dean. He’s looking at Castiel directly, head-on and unflinching, and with none of that grimacing awkwardness that Castiel’s so used to. Castiel had thought that Dean simply didn’t like or was uncomfortable with direct eye-contact – he’d hardly be the first person in Castiel’s acquaintance to shy away from such things – but here he is. It’s a curious thing, and Castiel finds himself intrigued by the flecks of brown in Dean’s green eyes, which he hadn’t noticed before.

Normally Castiel would be annoyed by this invitation, too, since he’d planned to eat the sandwich while proofreading, but he’s curious about the proposition inside said invitation. Castiel has tremendous respect for the direct method – hence his friendship with Mary – but he hasn’t seen that from Dean until this moment. Dean is presenting his agenda and challenging Castiel to do the same, possibly as a lead-in to an interrogation, which should be very interesting.

This conversation is the most extensive dialogue they’ve had since Dean was almost out of his mind with allergies. Castiel is honestly curious if Dean has the competence to keep this going without dropping back into the halting awkwardness that’s been more typical of him (not that there’s anything wrong with being awkward, of course).

Castiel is intrigued. “All right.”

A few minutes later Castiel finds himself inside the TV room on the split-level sitting on one of the blue-grey couches with his plate on his lap and a beer bottle in his hand. He’d only been in this room once, when Mary showed him around, but he passes by it often since it’s right next to the split-level pantry where he makes coffee to bring back to his study. Castiel’s never seen it in use before, though, so he watches with interest as Dean fiddles with the projector and multiple remotes.

“Do you need a doctorate to watch a movie in this house?” Castiel asks.

“Sometimes I do think that’s the case.” Dean finally gets the movie going and then sinks back into his own seat, nursing his own bottle of beer.

Castiel doesn’t care much for the beer but takes a few polite sips between eating the sandwich. Luckily, he only has to wait past the opening credits before Dean opens with: “So, I was wondering how you met my mom.” Dean’s probably trying to sound casual, but it’s not very convincing.

“My sister’s an artist,” Castiel says, “and she’s made quite a few works for Mary. Some of the paintings in your house were commissioned by her. Over time she and Mary became friends, and when I moved here, Anna introduced us.”

“Artist. Wait, Anna, red hair? That your sister?”

“That should be her. You know her?”

“Yeah, met her the one time.” Dean taps his fingers on the side of his beer bottle. “So… just like that.”

“I don’t know many people in this part of the country. Anna wanted to correct that, I suppose. Or maybe she didn’t and it just happened, I’m not sure, it’s not as if I remember most of her other clients. All I know is that I was putting together a model airplane in Anna’s kitchen, and your mother sat down at the table and started asking me about it. What kind of plane it was, if I had other models like it, if it was fun.”

“Yeah, she does that sometimes,” Dean says. “So uh… was she there for the art thing, or…?”

“I think it was more a social call, and I’m told that it’s common practice for friends to visit each other. Not to mention that Mary likes Anna more than she does me.”

Dean barks a laugh but quickly presses a hand to his mouth in alarm, as though to pull the unintended sound back in. He clears his throat, recovering. “I see. Where’s your sister, then? Haven’t seen her around.”

“She’s up in New York.” Castiel tells him about the project that Anna’s a part of, and the types of pieces she’s expected to make for the commission. Art may not be Castiel’s forte but Dean doesn’t seem to be any more of an expert than he is. “She seems to be really enjoying herself. I’m happy for her.”

“You guys are close, huh?”

“Like you and Sam?”

Dean’s speculative gaze settles on Castiel. It has Castiel thinking back again on how he met Mary, since that historic event has been brought up by Dean already once today. Castiel thinks about the model airplane he’d been working on – it’s still in Anna’s apartment somewhere – and how Mary asked if it was a hobby of his. Castiel replied that no, it wasn’t, but he thought he’d give it a try because it looked interesting.

Perhaps most people would’ve left it at that, but Mary asked further: why? Castiel, realizing that Mary was actually interested in an answer, thought about it and concluded that with so much of his life uncertain and confusing, he thought that he could get at least a small portion of satisfaction by putting this piece together. That way, at least something in this large, perplexing world would make sense, and Castiel would understand it.

Castiel feels that way again now, as he looks back at Dean. Inside Castiel’s brain there are two sets of understanding of this man – one set supplied by Mary’s parental point-of-view retellings, and the other by observation of the taciturn man he’s only occasionally crossed paths with in Mary’s home. Castiel had chalked up the difference between the two to human complexity and, although that’s probably still true, he thinks that he would like to make sense of that complexity. He would like to observe and learn, and perhaps dissect a little, because even Castiel gets curious sometimes.

He’s curious about Dean’s kindness, because he _is_ kind; it’s in the way he talks to Joshua, Meg, and even Castiel, even though he doesn’t like Castiel. He’s curious about the way Dean cares so much about his mother, to the point of setting aside his other responsibilities for her sake.

Most of all, Castiel’s curious about the way Dean’s now studying him right back. Castiel knows that Dean’s measuring him up, but he’s doing it gently and without pretense, trying to find Castiel’s angle and trying to make sense of the friendship he has with Mary. Castiel can’t be offended by that, and neither would Castiel be upset if Dean found him lacking or not worth his while. Yet, with Mary hovering in Castiel’s mind as proxy, he wonders: what does Dean see? Does Dean have two sets of understanding the way Castiel does about _him_ , and is Dean trying to reconcile the person Mary’s spoken of with the man he’s observing right now?

Castiel feels a – a _tingle_ , of some sort, in his neck and below his ears. It’s not the excitement of a challenge, exactly, but similar. He’s intrigued that he can hold Dean’s gaze this long, and Dean has no inclination of turning away.

“Sure, me and Sam are pretty tight,” Dean says at last. “Not tight enough to be living together like you and your sis, though.”

“It wasn’t by choice,” Castiel says. “No, that’s inaccurate. Anna invited me, and I accepted, but the invitation was only necessary because I quit my last job.”

“You quit your job?” Dean says, turning the echo into a half-question.

“I was unhappy with it. It wasn’t a decision I took lightly, and Anna was there for me when I needed support. May I ask you a question now?”

Dean look surprised, but shrugs. “Okay, shoot.”

“Is it your preference to hang out in this room?”

“Yeah, I guess?”

“Ah.”

Dean frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve just moved back in, and if you’re taking this room as your regular haunt, I find it telling that you’ve already repurposed the coffee table as your work station.” There may be enough space on the table for the beer and Dean’s other snacks, but there’s no missing the open laptop and folders currently arranged on what Castiel’s assuming is Dean’s ‘side’ of the table. “Much like how you used the coffee table in your apartment.”

“Are you accusing me of something?” Dean asks.

“Not necessarily,” Castiel says. “It may be indicative of being a workaholic, but you’ve also made a quite a few visits to the house during what should be regular working hours. I suppose it’s possible that you could be a workaholic _and_ a slacker, but I have trouble imagining how that would work out in the long-term.”

Dean seems unimpressed by the argument, but then he says, “I could be a slacker who’s trying to catch up with a shitload of work I’ve been procrastinatin’ on.”

“Ah, yes, that’s possible,” Castiel says. “I don’t think so, though. It’s my impression that you have a very full life, which means that you’re aware of the value of time, based on how you dole it out.”

“If I had a very full life I wouldn’t be having a beer at home on a Friday night.”

“No, you were planning to _work_ at home on a Friday night. Until my beer-less sandwich offended you.”

Dean turns away again, a hand on his face to hide his soft huff of laughter. It isn’t Castiel’s goal to get Dean to smile, but he’s pleased at having achieved it anyway, and with barely any effort to boot.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Castiel says. “It’s a good thing to be dedicated to your work.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Within reason, of course.”

“That’s the tricky part, isn’t it? How do you even tell?”

“Hell if I know. Luck?”

“Well, if you ever figure it out, let me know. It’d be a lesson learned too late but still worthwhile, I think.”

“Yeah,” Dean says quietly, turning away. “Yeah. So, uh, you said Anna took you in. You got any other siblings ‘sides her?”

“Brothers, three. Older.”

“But you’re closest to your sister.”

“Not always. We're only a few minutes apart in age, so it's natural that we were close as children. But we drifted apart, not because of time or distance, but because I made a huge mistake and believed I didn’t need her anymore.”

Dean double-takes. “Why would you believe that?”

“My brothers – the oldest two, sorry – they thought that Anna was too... unfocused. They believed she didn’t have the right drive, that she didn’t have proper priorities in life. Over time, I let myself be influenced by them and believed it, too. If I was going to get anywhere in the world, I couldn’t let Anna hold me back.”

Dean takes a swig of his beer. “Geez.”

“Anna has tremendous capacity for love and forgiveness. It’s no wonder that your mother and she became good friends.” Castiel watches Dean process this, and no doubt wondering about the accuracy of what he’s saying. “Do you think I’m telling you this so you’ll feel sorry for me?”

Dean doesn’t even blink. “Honestly? No idea. Why are you?”

“I’m telling you because this is your home, and I believe you’re entitled to whatever information you feel relevant about myself, seeing as I am encroaching on your space. You may ask me anything else.”

“Just like that.”

“You don’t have to believe everything I say, of course. That might be asking for too much.”

That earns Castiel another one of Dean’s soft, breathy laughs. It’s far removed from the obnoxiously loud laughs he’s heard around Mary’s house, but Castiel likes it. It changes the shape of Dean’s face, moving his eyes, cheeks and mouth in interesting ways. He has many tics, Castiel realizes. Dean is constantly moving, but not in a restless, inability-to-stay-still way. He speaks with his whole body – in the way he angles his head, twists his shoulders, rests his hands on his knees. Castiel finds himself wondering what it’s like to be so comfortable in one’s own body.

“The coffee table can’t be good for your back,” Castiel says. “If you’re going to be working in here, you might as well do it properly.”

“I don’t do _that_ much typing. I mostly use it to read – news, emails, reports, and you don’t need to be hunched over a coffee table for that.” Dean reaches over for the laptop and presses something at the hinge, unlocking the top half of the laptop into a tablet. “Mostly I pace around the room with this.”

“Oooh.” At Castiel’s wide-eyed reaction, Dean hands the tablet over for his study. “I think I saw something like this in the catalogue but it didn’t register. That is interesting. You can watch movies on this as well?”

“Yeah?”

“Then why do you need a huge projector?”

Dean’s mouth drops open a little, offended. “Because – because! It’s totally different from watching something on a plate.” He gestures at the projector screen, now showing a street fight with an alarmingly large number of swords for a contemporary film. “Look at the hi-def, man. It’s an all-immersive experience.”

“But you’re not even watching it right now.”

“I’ve seen this already.”

“Then why did you put it on?”

Dean sputters. “You never put something on for background noise?”

“You don’t need an all-immersive hi-def projector screen for that.”

“See, now you’re just being a dick,” Dean says, though he’s smiling. He takes the tablet from Castiel and returns it to its place with the keyboard. “Fine. I’m gonna pay attention. And you gotta pay attention as well.”

“I think I know how this story goes.”

“Oh, do you?” Dean leans back in his seat, the very image of relaxation and indulgence. “Hit me, then.”

Castiel points at the screen. “That’s the hero and audience surrogate. That’s the best friend slash sidekick, who is the expert in this field. I didn’t see a mentor, so maybe there isn’t one or he hasn’t shown up yet, but I believe that that woman the hero was flirting with in the airport is the love interest?”

Dean smirks as he takes another long swig of his beer. “So what’s the story about?”

“Well, they have to save that girl,” Castiel says. “That girl that got kidnapped, right? And there appears to be magic involved, which _usually_ means that there’s a world-destroying catastrophe in the immediate future, unless this is a mere city-destroying catastrophe instead. I’m not sure who the main villain is yet, but he was likely behind the girl’s kidnapping.”

“He hasn’t shown up yet,” Dean says. “You got all of that from the first twenty minutes?”

“Yes.”

“You weren’t even paying attention.”

“You know that can’t be true.” Castiel watches the on-screen action for a while. “Though perhaps I was wrong about him being the hero, he seems awfully inept.”

“That’s part of Jack’s charm.”

“Ah, so his name is Jack.” Castiel nods knowingly. “He’s the relatable everyman, a jack-of-all-trades. Rising above the expectations placed upon him, he enters the conflict with a fresh point-of-view and, thanks to his ability to think outside the box, helps save the day.”

“You really know your movies, huh?”

“Oh, not really. I like _stories_ , it doesn’t matter what medium they’re in. They inform the hopes and fears of the generation that told them, and there’s a certain comfort in seeing familiar patterns play out.”

“So, uh…” Dean clears his throat. “What kind of movies _do_ you like?”

Castiel thinks. “There was one Anna made me watch recently. It was about a man who heard a voice in his head telling him to make a baseball field, I liked that one.”

Dean barks a laugh. “'If you build it, they will come?”

“Yes, that’s it. I liked its message about faith and searching for meaning, and how the main character was drawn into something that was simultaneously world-changingly huge, yet highly personal and intimate. Plus it had a feel-good ending, I enjoy those.”

“Daddy issues,” Dean says. “You’re into daddy issues.”

Castiel looks pointedly at the screen, then back to Dean. “And you’re into stories about people with commitment issues who travel alone in their big bad trucks, making friends and saving people wherever they go.”

“Don’t have a truck.”

“You have a muscle car that rattles my teeth whenever you drive up to the house. Close enough.”

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.”

“So you’re not going to deny that you have a hero complex? Or at least fantasize about being a hero?”

Dean sputters a little, tips of his ears going pink. “I don’t fantasize about _anything_ , what – what are you…”

“It’s not a bad thing to dream about,” Castiel says, taking pity and steering away from Dean’s odd blustering. “Quite the opposite, I think. Though I can’t imagine you wandering around the country dressed up like Jack.”

“You don’t find the trucker cap and muscle shirt sexy?”

Castiel makes a face. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t _know_?”

“It’s just clothes. I’m not sure how that translates to sexy, whether positive or negative. What would be your costume, if you were the hero in Jack’s place?”

Dean is thoughtful. “I’d keep the boots. I feel cold just looking at him, though, so I’d probably have a shirt on, plus my leather jacket on top.”

“A leather jacket is a tad cliché, isn’t it?”

“Is cliché bad?”

Castiel nods. “Fair point.”

The movie must be at least an hour and a half but it flies by with their commentary. Castiel learns that Dean doesn’t care about realism but has strong opinions about worldbuilding. A careless comment from Castiel wondering how one can exist without the other has Dean explaining in detail the importance of internal consistency and emotional believability, with a brief detour into something called LARPing which Castiel will google later. Dean’s a storyteller, which goes some way towards explaining all those figurines and books Castiel saw in his apartment.

In between film commentary Dean slips in other questions, asking where Castiel was brought up, if he makes art the way Anna does, if he misses his other brothers. Castiel supplies his own questions in return: how often he and Sam see each other (not that often these days), how long Dean’s had the restoration business (only for about four years, though portions of the business are older and were bought over), does he really only have the one car (yes, and Dean is particular about the Impala being a ‘her’).

Before Castiel knows it, the movie’s winding down with Jack exchanging goodbyes with his friends, though Dean himself is far from winding down as he argues against Castiel’s latest suggestion that the film made a tremendous error in focusing on Jack’s point of view when in terms of impact on the story, he ranks lower than a number of other characters.

“But you said it yourself,” Dean says, “he’s the everyman, the relatable one.”

“Gracie’s relatable,” Castiel says. “She may be the love interest but considering her more central role to the workings of the plot, it could just have easily been told from her point of view and _he_ would’ve been the love interest.”

“That would be an even bigger cliché,” Dean counters. “’Cause then Jack would be the whatsit, the diamond-in-the-rough to break down the ice queen’s defenses.”

“How dare you,” Castiel says. “Gracie isn’t an ice queen. She’s refined and confident, but far more passionate. She’s snarky and subverts the system from within, and not to mention that she’s been fighting this fight longer than Jack has. She was sneaking into dangerous places to save people while he was busy whining about his truck.”

Dean gasps loudly, clutching his chest. “That truck is his _life_.”

“Then in comparison, Gracie has more of a life than he does.”

“You take that back.”

“No. She’s more heroic than Jack.” Castiel watches as, on-screen, Jack turns back one last time to lock eyes with Gracie before making his stoic exit. “And so the cowboy walks off into the sunset, choosing his vehicle over his friends.”

“See, now you’re just saying that to mess with me.”

“Why would I do that?” Castiel asks. “If I had to choose to be a character, I’d be Gracie. She has the nicer wardrobe, too.”

“That isn’t a – okay, that’s true.”

A tapping noise at the door makes Castiel start in surprise, but before he turns to its source he sees Dean stiffen up in surprise. Castiel turns, but it’s only Mary standing there in the doorway, leaning into the room and smiling. “Good evening, gentlemen. Enjoying your movie, I see.”

“You’re back.” Castiel stands up automatically. “How was the show?”

“It was fantastic, thank you,” Mary says. “I had thought about meeting the company afterward, but in the end I was just too tired and came back.”

Castiel nods, understanding. “I hope you get your rest, then.”

“Will do,” Mary says. “You, too, Dean!”

“Yep,” Dean says. “Night, Mom.”

Castiel watches Mary disappear in the direction of the stairs, and then turns back to Dean, hoping to resume their conversation, but Dean’s already fiddling with the remotes, removing the disc from the player and switching off the various electronics. Castiel deflates a little, bereft at the momentum being leeched away so abruptly, but offers a hopeful, “Thank you, Dean. I enjoyed the movie.”

“What?” Dean says, sounding distracted. “Right. Yeah, that’s cool.”

“So do you concede that Gracie is a better character?” Castiel says.

“Uh.” Dean stands up and wipes his hands on his side absently. “I’m kinda tired, I’m gonna call it a night.”

“Oh. All right.” Castiel’s reasonably sure that he didn’t say anything to offend Dean in the past ten seconds, yet he can’t see any other reason for the easy cheer of the evening to be gone, leaving him standing there foolishly while Dean clears up the rest of the room. “I can help,” he says, but Dean waves him off.

“It’s fine,” Dean says.

Castiel starts to leave the room, but stops at the threshold and turns back. “Did I do something wrong?”

Dean jumps, and his eyes wide and almost guilty when they settle on Castiel’s face. “No, of course not.” He immediately turns away mumbles the next part under his breath: “I’m just a dumbass and forgot for a second there.”

“Forgot what?” Castiel says, frustrated.

“Nothing.”

Castiel grits his teeth, stopping himself for pointing out that that’s quite possibly the most annoying answer in the universe. Instead he manages to force himself to say, “Okay then, good night,” before stepping out of the room and silently backhanding the nearest harmless object – a tissue box on the side table – onto the floor. Castiel regrets it two seconds later and puts the poor thing back where it’s supposed to be, but the general discontentment follows him to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The movie Dean and Cas watch is _Big Trouble in Little China_.


	5. something’s buggin’ me, something ain’t right

It’s not exactly new for Castiel to find socializing complex and challenging, but he thinks that Dean might be even more complex and challenging than most. Castiel honestly thought they found a decent rapport over the movie, but by the next morning it’s as if it never happened.

Actually, that’s not true. The situation _is_ improved over before, in that there’s direct eye-contact from Dean maybe half of the time instead of none of the time. Hah.

So it is that Castiel’s interactions with Dean return to being brief and forgettable, limited to such scintillating exchanges as a “hi” when they cross paths in the pantry for snacks, or an “okay have fun” when Castiel takes his bike out of the garage while Dean’s working on his car. Dean’s always courteous and helpful, and sometimes even smiles, but he always excuses himself whenever Castiel tries to strike up a fuller conversation. The most confusing part is that Dean seems genuinely apologetic whenever he does this, and extracts himself from the scene with awkwardness.

Castiel hadn’t cared about this before, but he does now, seeing as that he’s had a peek at how easy it can be to interact with Dean. More than that, it was _fun_ , and left Castiel energized save for the part where he walked away from the TV room feeling bereft. Talking with Dean wasn’t like talking with Mary, no more than how talking with Mary is like talking with Anna – though all are pleasant in different ways.

Anna has been trying to get Castiel to socialize more, though naturally the one time he actively _wants_ to, he’s faced with a brick wall. An incomprehensible six foot two plaid-wearing brick wall.

Castiel tells himself that he shouldn’t be bothered by this because Dean doesn’t owe him anything, and everyone is entitled to their idiosyncrasies. Castiel also reminds himself that certain people he’s interacted with in the past described _him_ as odd and unpredictable at times, so perhaps it is fitting that the tables be turned on him.

Over the next few days Castiel only ever sees Dean at the house at night. Dean’s gone before Castiel is up for breakfast, and is usually only back in time to join him and Mary for dinner, where Dean more or less only talks to Castiel when prompted (though he’s unfailingly polite whenever he does). When Saturday rolls by, Dean’s absent from the house from late in the morning until later still at night. Dean’s apparently capable of being a regular person with regular work and social commitments.

It makes Castiel think back on the few times he’d tried to have a roommate – mostly in college – and the only time it’d been tolerable was when said roommate had been as uninterested in him as he was with them. But instead of making Castiel appreciate having that kind of polite distance again here, he wonders if the other roommates he’d avoided in the past tried to connect with _him_ , and he hadn’t realized, or reacted poorly.

Anna would probably find all of this amusing if he told her, which he hasn’t, because he can’t figure out any way to describe it without sounding petulant and selfish. But if he _could_ , he thinks Anna would ask whether Dean’s weirdness extends to his interactions with _Mary_ , which is far more important.

To that, Castiel would answer: they’re friendly and warm, nothing at all like his and Anna’s relationship with their father. There are indeed still moments of tension that Castiel can’t account for but that, too, is none of his business, which Mary takes pains to remind him one morning during their regular breakfast on this terrace.

As has been the practice of the past week, Dean is long gone by the time Castiel comes down for the morning meal. Mary is awake and upbeat, with some new ideas for Castiel’s work for the next few days.

They discuss the thesis for a while, until Castiel finds a lull in the conversation to ask, “Do you remember when we first met?”

“Sure,” Mary says. “You were painting that Spitfire.”

“Badly.”

“The lines are tricky. Takes a lot of practice. Why do you ask?”

“You kept talking.” Castiel smiles at the memory. “Anna’s brought so many of her clients to the apartment but you – you talked to me, and you kept talking. You said before that you recognized in me a kindred spirit but... how?”

“Well, pardon _me_. You make it sound like I badgered you into giving in. That’s not how it happened.”

“Isn’t it?”

Mary peers at Castiel over her buttered toast. “Talking accomplishes nothing if there isn’t someone listening.”

“Oh. Mary, I…” Castiel sighs. “I’m honored and glad to be able to listen to you. You deserve all the good things.”

“You are not going to go all morose on me now,” Mary says, amused. “I think I’ve had enough of that.”

“I just don’t understand it.”

“Cas, I’m very lucky.”

“That thinking can be dangerous sometimes. I remember thinking that, _exactly_ that, before. I told myself I was lucky, so I convinced myself that I was happy. I had so many good things going on, so what right did I have to feel even the slightest inkling of dissatisfaction? What right did I have to feel that there was something wrong, something missing? Obviously my life was good enough, so I should’ve been content.”

Mary leans back in her seat, a myriad of emotions passing over her face. Then she says slowly, “But I _am_ lucky. I had so many wonderful years with my husband, and many people get less than that, or none at all. And my wonderful boys.”

“Yes, your boys.” Castiel takes a breath. “I… would it be unfair if I said that Dean’s difficult to understand?”

Mary laughs. “Aren’t we all? You seem to be doing okay with him.”

Castiel starts in surprise. He supposes he’s doing ‘okay’ in that they’re both civil to each other and that Dean hasn’t done anything antagonistic or rude, but… “I think I might have offended him.”

“How?”

“I’m not sure,” Castiel says slowly. “The only thing I can think of is my being here at all, and that it’s somehow exacerbating whatever it is that’s going on between you and Dean.”

Mary jerks back, startled. “Between us?”

“Well, everything looks well enough on the surface, but sometimes I get this feeling, this strain when you talk to each other—”

“No.” Mary shakes her head. “My boys are off-limits. You don’t get to comment on them, or my relationship with them.”

Castiel looks down at his plate and exhales. It just figures that as soon as Mary says that she liked him for his ability to listen, he’d paid her back with his inability to respect boundaries. “I’m sorry.”

“Is this really about me?” To Castiel’s relief, Mary doesn’t sound upset. “Or are you thinking of something else?”

“I don’t know, maybe. I was just thinking about relationships in general, and you seem so much better equipped to initiate them than I am.”

“Initiate, sure. But keep? That’s another ballgame.” Mary starts buttering another piece of toast, but pauses when she sees Castiel’s face. “What?”

“I thought you said not to get morose.”

“What brought this on?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel admits. “I find most relationships difficult, but not with you. Then you had to go and say that _you_ find most relationships difficult, which is, frankly, shifting my worldview somewhat. And now I’m left wondering what hope is there left if neither one of us can figure this out.”

Mary sighs. “You’d think I would’ve picked up some tips in the additional years I have over you.”

“I’ve been told that achieving adulthood doesn’t mean you get all the answers.”

“Whoever told you that’s a wise woman. Oh did I say ‘woman’? I meant ‘person’.”

Castiel laughs. “You’re very sweet.”

Mary wrinkles her nose and grins. “Thank you.”

The morning light casts an ethereal glow about her, and it enhances the radiance she already has from her usual pre-breakfast walk in the garden. Castiel should have noticed it before, but when she smiles, her eyes crinkle the same way that Dean’s do.

At the very least, the conversation helps put things back in perspective. He’s here as _Mary’s_ friend, and to assist with her doctorate. Anything that Castiel’s entitled to with Dean is simply due to how he relates to Mary. Castiel’s forgotten his place, that’s all.

Castiel reminds himself of this later that night, when he’s lying in bed and can hear their laughter through the open window of his room.

It’s a large house, but Mary and Dean are in the game room above, likely playing pool judging from what sounds like the occasional crack of a ball being struck. There is a weight in Castiel’s chest as he listens, but he doesn’t think it’s sadness. Maybe it’s envy. It’s been long enough that messages and photos aren’t enough to assuage Castiel’s yearning for Anna, though of course he is nothing but happy that her commission work is going so well. Of course there’s also Mary herself, and Castiel’s interactions with her continue to be satisfying, but he can’t seem to shake this new restlessness.

There’s another laugh, louder this time. Mary’s voice is indistinct but recognizable, which makes Castiel smile.

This bedroom of cream walls and matching furniture is near the back of the house, so the main thing Castiel can see from the window is the fence, along with the few topiary pieces that make up the edge of the garden that’s mostly curved around the west side of the building. The game room is not directly above, but it’s close enough that noise carries in the quiet night.

He’d picked this room mainly because it’s close to the study, but it has the additional bonus of being positioned thus that he can lie on the bed and look out the window imagining that he is alone, in a small house all of his own that has no other residents. Of course, the illusion is firmly shattered, though Castiel tells himself that there’s no reason to feel restless, and no reason to be curious about what Dean and Mary are laughing about.


	6. you’re givin’ me the chills, baby please, baby don’t

Though Castiel doesn’t understand some of its inhabitants, the house itself has become familiar and comforting after weeks of his living here. He’s learned its quirks, such as how the garage door needs to click a certain way in order to be fully closed, or the split-level pantry fridge whines for no discernible reason whatsoever sometimes, and that he can usually identify an unseen person by the sound of their footsteps.

Meg seems to find that last one amusing. At least that’s what Castiel reads out of it when, one day, Meg tries to sneak up on him in the laundry room and he says without looking up, “I need some new sheets.”

“Okay, that is creepy,” Meg says.

“Sheets aren’t creepy. Not most of the time, anyway.” Castiel turns around, in time to catch Meg’s dramatic sigh as she puts down her bucket and gloves. “I brought my laundry as well.”

“That is the opposite of helpful.” Meg waves impatiently at a counter, where Castiel sets down his hamper. “Don’t do it anymore.”

“I just thought I’d bring it down since I’m here.”

“Hmm. Which sheets?”

“Fitted, thank you.” Castiel watches Meg turn to the shelves, trying to find the appropriate pieces. “Dean’s coming, I think.”

Meg glances over her shoulder. “You think?”

Sure enough the heavy footsteps grow louder and Dean shoulders his way into the room, calling out: “Hey, Meg! Do you have… oh, hey.” Castiel’s surprised that Meg couldn’t tell it was him; the only other person in the house who wears boots is Mary, and she doesn’t tromp around the way her son does.

“Do I have what?” Meg asks.

“Bleach,” Dean says.

“Gimme a sec.” Meg rummages around a little, and then hands over a bottle of bleach in one hand, and a folded square with the other. “Plenty more where that came from, fellas. What do you even need bleach for?”

“Getting rid of a body,” Dean says. “Kidding! Kidding. There’s grout in the bathroom, wanna get it out.”

“You do that yourself?” Castiel says in surprise.

Dean raises an eyebrow at the folded square in Castiel’s hands. “You change your sheets yourself?”

“This isn’t my house,” Castiel says. “Thank you, Meg.” She flutters her fingers in the air, dismissing him.

Castiel leaves the laundry room, rubbing a hand against the fresh warm sheet he’s holding, while Dean follows close behind. Castiel assumes that Dean will go off on his own way like he usually does, and is thus surprised when Dean suddenly says, “That makes no sense.”

“What?” Castiel says.

“This isn’t your house, which means you’re a guest,” Dean says. “Even more reason for you not to be changing your own sheets.”

“That’s one way to see it,” Castiel says, “but I see myself as more like a… an independent contractor than a guest.”

“That’s just a fancy name for staff.”

“Sure, but the difference is that I’m not essential to the functioning of the house,” Castiel says. “So it is only fair that I take up as little space and resources as I can.”

Dean frowns. “Did Meg tell you that?”

“She’s done no such thing,” Castiel says. “She’s thoughtful and efficient. I like her.”

Dean’s eyebrows go up in surprise. “Really? I mean, _I_ like her too, but she can be a little…”

“Prickly?”

“Yeah.”

“So? You’re prickly, too.”

“What? I—I’m not.”

“Now you’re prickly _and_ defensive.”

“Yeah, like you’re so great.” Dean stops and blinks rapidly. “Sorry, sorry. That was – I didn’t mean that.”

“It’s all right.” Castiel starts to make his way down the hall, but Dean follows him, repeating the apology. “It’s fine, Dean, I understand. It’s a thing you say, but you don’t mean it to be cruel.”

“Argh, that just makes me feel worse. Will you _stop_?”

Castiel stops walking and turns his whole body to face Dean. It’s what he asked, but Dean seems taken aback, and needs a second to compose himself. Castiel tilts his head. “What?”

“Uh.” Dean hovers uncertainly. “I – I know I’ve been kinda a douche…”

Castiel shakes his head. “You haven’t. I have a decent barometer for poor behavior, and you barely register.”

“What kind of people you hanging out with that that barely registers?”

“Dean,” Castiel says with a sigh, “you’ve been far more accommodating than is necessary. I appreciate it, and I truly, honestly don’t mind that you find my presence uncomfortable. It happens, and it can’t be forced. All I can do is promise you that I’ll stay out of your way, and before you know it, I’ll be gone.”

“Gone?”

“Of course.” Castiel frowns, his confusion mirrored by Dean’s. “Surely that isn’t news to you? It’s only temporary, I was never meant to… You thought I’m staying here permanently?”

“Uh, maybe not _forever_ forever,” Dean stammers, “but, I don’t know.”

“It’s nothing of the sort. I’ll be here a few more months at the most. After that I’ll be going back to my sister’s, or I’ll find somewhere else, I haven’t decided yet. Whatever the case, the equilibrium of the house will be restored soon enough, and all shall be at peace.”

“Is that what… my mother wants?”

“That was my understanding of her invitation,” Castiel says, confused. “She was perfectly upfront about it.”

Dean doesn’t seem to have a response to that. He’s standing perfectly still but Castiel has the impression that Dean’s balance has been thrown out of whack and that he’s currently performing some intense recalibration. Castiel feels kinda sorry for him, though he’s not entirely certain what there is to be sorry about.

Castiel starts to leave, but is stopped by Dean’s, “Hey.” He turns back, and Dean adds, “You never get out of the house.”

“Excuse me?” Castiel says.

“You never… go out,” Dean says awkwardly. “Even on weekends. You’re practically glued to the library.”

“That’s not true. I exercise, and occasionally take my bike into town.”

“By _yourself_.”

“So?” Castiel says. “Anyway, I told you I moved here to be with my sister. The only person I really knew around here was her. And your mother, of course.”

“And Mom never takes you out?”

Castiel thinks. “She took me to the Roadhouse once.”

Dean raises his eyes up to the heavens, as though offering a silent prayer. “Right. Okay. Right.” He keeps muttering, and Castiel thinks he catches a faint, “…fucking hell, why me, why do I gotta…”

“I think I’d better go—” Castiel starts.

“Okay, look,” Dean says firmly. “This don’t sit well with me. You’re stuck in this house day in and day out, barely mixing with anyone, it’s gotta be making you stir-crazy. It’s not healthy.”

“Anna tried to tell me that once,” Castiel says thoughtfully.

“I’m not kidding, Cas!”

“I’ll have you know that some people are perfectly content to keep themselves company. A little socialization is enough to tide them over for weeks, months.”

“Are you one of those people?”

“Even if I wasn’t, I don’t see how your bringing it up will help. I don’t know anyone else here, and meeting new people is intimidating without back-up.”

“You know _me_.”

“How does that help? You don’t even like me.” Castiel watches with satisfaction when Dean’s mouth falls open. “Got you there, didn’t I?”

“I—” Dean coughs. “It’s not that I don’t _like_ you…”

“Calm down there, you’re going to give yourself an aneurysm,” Castiel says, amused. “You’re in excellent company on that front, so don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t say things like that!”

“My apologies. That really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

“Yes!”

“So what do you propose doing about it?”

Dean puffs his chest out. “I’m gonna take you somewhere.”

“Really,” Castiel says skeptically.

“Yes. Somewhere, anywhere. We can go get a bite somewhere, or catch a movie—”

“Is that really necessary?”

“Plenty of things ain’t necessary,” Dean says, exasperated. “I like doing them anyway. Look, I still feel bad for treating you like crap—”

“I just said you didn’t.”

“—and I never got to properly thank you for dealing with my sick ass the other day.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I _do_.” Dean gentles his voice when he adds, “You can say no, of course, I totally respect that. But say no because _you_ don’t want to, not because you think _I_ don’t want to.”

Castiel has another light rejoinder at the ready, but it slips away in the face of Dean’s earnestness. This baffling man who blows hot and cold now seems genuinely hopeful, as though his suggestion isn’t some social obligation he’s merely going through the motions for. Castiel’s used to Anna’s concern for his well-being, but Anna’s his sister; Dean barely knows him, yet here he is.

“I suppose that this is comeuppance,” Castiel says, “for my barging into your apartment when you told me not to?”

Dean chuckles. “I guess you can look at it like that.”

Castiel looks down at this folded sheet, and then back up at Dean. He shouldn’t feel a curl of anticipation in his stomach because this is nothing, it’s small, it’s tiny, it’s inconsequential, it’s Dean attempting to satisfy his honor, that’s all. If Castiel is lured by the opportunity of making at least a little bit more sense of this unpredictable, eccentric man, then that’s his own business.

Besides, it would be impolite to turn Dean down, not when he’s worked himself into a tizzy about this. Castiel can spare the time and effort, seeing as that he’s made good headway with work and hasn’t done anything destructive lately.

“All right,” Castiel says. “Do you know anywhere nearby that makes decent dessert?”

Dean does.

After confirming that neither of them have anything pressing to do this afternoon, Castiel goes off to settle his sheets while Dean deals with his grout problem, and then Castiel changes into a less casual shirt before meeting Dean at the front door. Dean’s outside wearing an honest-to-goodness leather jacket, and is leaning against that car of his, which as always is parked dead center in the rectangular stone patch around the stairs, as if it is inconceivable that his lady can be parked anywhere else.

“Let’s do this,” Dean says gruffly.

Once inside the car, Castiel says to Dean, “This is so exciting.”

“Ha ha.” Dean turns the ignition on and starts driving out to the gate. At a touch of his fingers rock music fills the car, making Castiel perk up with interest. “What?” Dean says.

“Leather jacket and rock music to go with the muscle car,” Castiel says. “I know this is probably in earnest, but it’s really quite charming to be in the company of a modern cowboy cliché.”

“Your face is a cliché,” Dean mutters.

“Is it?” Castiel puts his fingers to his cheeks. “How so?”

“You’re like…” Dean waves vaguely in his direction. “Classic nerd.”

“Now you simply have to elaborate.” Castiel looks down at himself. “Anna said this shirt makes me look nice. I’ve stopped wearing pants that are short enough to show my socks, and I’ve been working out regularly since I moved here, so I believe I’m better proportioned.”

“Fine, I take it back,” Dean says with a sigh. “It was wrong of me to say your face is a nerd cliché. There, that better?”

“I also take back my describing you as a cliché, because upon further reflection, it’s not true.”

“What’d you mean by that?”

“If you were a cliché as befitting your actual daily habits, you’d be wearing far less plaid than you do.”

“I’ll have you know that plaid is really fucking comfortable.”

“I believe you,” Castiel says. “I’m just saying that I’ve seen more plaid patterns in the past few weeks in your house than the rest of my life put together. It’s very impressive.”

“Hah, so if leather isn’t the right cliché, and plaid isn’t the right cliché, what is? Cocktail suits and ties all the time?”

“Goodness no,” Castiel says, noting the hint of bitterness in Dean’s tone at the mention of formalwear. “I was thinking more sweater vests. Comfortable sweater vests with optional jackets, and that little comb-over you had that time when Rowena came for lunch.”

“Ah. Workaholic boss chic?”

“Is that the term for it? I shall try to remember.”

Dean snorts. “You do know that I mainly do car restoration, right? Can’t exactly wear that when I’m tinkering around.”

“I wouldn’t know, seeing that I’ve never… Wait, you do that work personally? With your own hands?”

“Perks of being the boss.”

“That is interesting,” Castiel says. “When you said that you consolidated that business together, I imagined that it was the business portion that was of interest to you.”

“Sure it is,” Dean agrees, “but it’s not the only portion.”

They talk more all the way down into town. Dean’s choice of a venue is a waffle shop next to a park, which Castiel vaguely remembers Anna dragging him to once.

It being Saturday the shop is busy with customers, but they get a table outside, overlooking the park. Castiel digs into his triple scoop ice-cream with aplomb, while Dean makes do with a waffle concoction almost the size of his head.

“So,” Dean says as he digs in, “verdict?”

Castiel swallows the first spoonful of mint and strawberry, with a little hint of chocolate. “Decent flavor, not too overwhelming.” He turns his attention to immediate area – there’s family at the next table but the sounds of their noisy children feel appropriate, and beyond them is the modest but picturesque park, with quite a few people taking advantage of its facilities. “And this seems like a pleasant place to be on a sunny day.”

Dean laughs. “Anything else?”

“Is this a trick question?”

“I don’t know, anything about this place being homey or down-to-earth?”

“What does that even mean?” Castiel asks. “And why do you say that like it’s a negative? If you recommended this place, you must like it.”

“I do. It’s f—” Dean stutters, aware of the family nearby, “—flipping awesome.”

“Hmm. Ah.” Castiel is a little slow on the uptake sometimes. “Did you think that _I_ expected you to take me somewhere fancier? And that I have been woefully disappointed by your culinary taste?”

Dean juts his chin out. “Come at me.”

“Honestly?” Castiel schools his face into as serious as expression as he can manage. “How dare you order that monstrosity. You’re going to ruin your dinner.”

Dean pats his stomach. “Always got extra space.”

“Dangerous philosophy.”

“And I love living dangerously.”

Castiel laughs. “I’m enjoying this very much, thank you. If I ever do find a place here that does better ice-cream, then I will berate you for it. But seeing as that I have not, I concede to your expertise.”

“Damn straight you should.” Dean has another mouthful, and then starts gesturing to the view beyond. “Anyway, so now you know how to get here, right? You remember the road? So you can come here with your bike, if you wanna like, chill with a snack or something. It’s usually quiet in the mornings but there’s plenty o’ regulars. Good folk. Over there’s the library.”

“I’m well-acquainted with the library.”

“How about the community center?” Dean points to a square, light blue building just beyond. “They’ve got lots of events and activities, anyone can join. They have a pretty bad-ass rock-climbing wall, if you’re into that.”

“Are you?”

“Me? Geez no. I’m just telling you that there’s plenty to do if your daily schedule needs filling.”

“It is utterly charming how you insist on sharing all of this.” Castiel’s smile widens when Dean’s shoulders come up self-consciously. “Truly.”

“Whatever, man.”

“Dean,” Castiel says seriously, “whatever lingering guilt or awkwardness you carry over from our initial interactions, I can tell you with an earnest heart that I bear no grudges. In fact, I think it’s commendable, because you worry about your mother, don’t you?”

Dean shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. “Yeah.”

“But you should.”

“Sure, but I was _rude_.”

Castiel is intrigued. “That matters to you?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Dean says, offended. “My parents taught me better than that. I’d like to think so, anyway. I mean, I’m not a contender for Mister Congeniality or whatever, but it’s… sometimes I get defensive, and it’s not fair to people.”

“You’re protecting your family,” Castiel points out. “I’d imagine that you’ve had a fair share of people trying to take advantage of you.”

Dean stiffens, his easy demeanor briefly replaced by a stiff-jawed man who’s been repeatedly disappointed by the world. “Some people are shitty, news at eleven.”

“And you can’t always tell by looking at them. So is it wrong to have your guard up for a while?”

“Dude, are you _trying_ to get me on the defense again?”

“I’m just saying. I could be systematically stealing from your mother’s house right now. Well, not right _now_ , because I’m enjoying a rather interesting concoction at the moment, but you understand my meaning.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Are you? Stealing?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Dean props up an elbow on the table so he can lean forward, though the gesture is decidedly non-threatening. “See, right now I wanna just say how much of a weirdo you are, but that would break my resolution to not be a dick to you anymore.”

“That’s a terrible resolution. You must always have the option to be a dick in all your interactions.”

“Is that your life motto?”

Castiel thinks. “Actually, I think it might have been. Before. But not anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I thought I’d change it up, be less of a dick.” Castiel is warmed when Dean laughs again. “It’s made for some interesting mental calisthenics.”

“Wait, you gotta _remind_ yourself to not be a dick?”

“Didn’t you just say that you’re doing the exact thing right now by stopping yourself from calling me a weirdo? It’s a continuous process. Perhaps a universal one.”

Dean raises another forkful of waffle, as though making a toast. “Profound observation.”

They talk a little more, eat a little more, and Castiel is actually disappointed when he reaches the bottom of his ice-cream bowl. He may have work to get back to but it’s such a lovely day, and he’s not often in this part of town. It’s a shame.

“Sammy used to make that face, too,” Dean says with a grin. “Though nowadays he’s more about salad bowls than ice-cream.”

“Commendable.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot who I was talking to.”

Castiel scowls. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re a picky eater,” Dean says matter-of-factly. “I’ve seen you at dinnertime. Always exactly one-third vegetables, one-third carbs, one-third protein. Except for the times you go wild for a plate and a half of them greens.”

“I have a lot to make up for,” Castiel says. “I didn’t take care of myself for a long time, and it’s only recently that I noticed how bad I’d let things get. I was barely strong enough to take the bike down to town the first time. I was winded halfway down. It’s humbling.”

“Oh is that why the… Why you do those weird sprints on the terrace?”

“High intensity interval training,” Castiel says. “Short in duration, but effective. So I’ve been told, anyway.”

“It been helping?”

“If it has, I’ve just undone all of it by indulging in this.” Castiel pushes the bowl away. “But alas, I have no regrets.”

“Good for you.” Dean sounds like he means it. “Though what the hell do I know, don’t listen to me. Sam says I’m the worst, and he’s usually right.”

“Do you have a regimen?”

“What, like a workout routine? No, not really.”

Castiel leans back, taking in Dean’s broad shoulders and strong arms with displeasure. Dean’s leather jacket is draped on the back of the chair due to the warm weather, but he’s taken the additional step of rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows, showing off his shapely forearms, the muscle there subtle but defined. “Ah, so you’re another example of life being unfair and blessing you with good genes.”

“Or,” Dean says slowly, “I keep myself active as much as I can, doing stuff myself instead of being cooped up inside a room the whole day.”

Castiel considers this. “I cannot argue. I concede.”

“Didn’t realize we were debating.”

“Somehow I keep ending up in debates without meaning to.” Castiel’s eye is drawn back to the park, where the family he’s been eyeing has finally called it a day and heading off. “Are you done? I would like to go to the park.”

“What? Sure, go ahead, I’ll catch up.”

Castiel crosses the street, past a couple that’s playing with their dog, and into the park proper. There are a handful of the usual exercise and entertainment equipment set up, all of which seem to be kept in good order. He considers the bar and rings, but then moves to the metal swing set that stands tall and currently unused.

He glances back to the shop, and is surprised to see Dean bending over a little and talking to a girl in her early teens, who seems to be listening intently. When Dean points at another child behind her – a boy, who’s much smaller – the girl sighs and nods. Dean pats her shoulder once, and then lifts up a paper cup, a miniature of the bowl that Castiel had for his ice-cream, and hands it over.

The whole thing takes barely a minute. When Dean is done and has come over, Castiel’s made himself comfortable in the swing seat on the far right. Castiel waits until Dean’s close enough to say: “I hope you weren’t holding that little girl’s dessert hostage.”

“What are you, the ice-cream police?” Dean moves to the monkey bars in front of Castiel and perches on the second lowermost rung, legs spread out a little for balance. “Kid got into an argument with her brother and their ice-cream got ruined, so I thought I’d smooth things over some. Their mom’s in the florist next door, didn’t see what was going on.”

“Ah, so _you’re_ the ice-cream police,” Castiel says.

“Better that than a grown man who’s hogging a kid’s swing.”

“This is not a child’s swing, it’s too high.”

“But not high enough for those long legs o’ yours.”

“Where there’s a will.” Castiel kicks himself off the ground, and then lets gravity and momentum do its work. “See?”

“Suuuuure,” Dean drawls.

The sight of Dean making himself comfortable between the yellow bars should be incongruous, but it isn’t. Dean’s so at ease, arms looped loosely around the bars on either side of him, his hands relaxed – as though he does this all the time. Castiel can imagine a cigarette hanging in one of those hands, or another beer bottle. If Castiel had a camera, he would take a picture.

“What’s that?” Dean says.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You made a sound.” Dean clicks his tongue twice against the roof of his mouth. “Like that.”

“Is there a word for the sensation of really wanting to take a picture?” Castiel’s still moving with each swing, forcing Dean to tilt his head up and down a little as he goes. “That’s what it is.”

“I’m sure you have a phone on you somewhere.”

“Not the same,” Castiel says. “I’m not even sure how to get that sepia effect, like those beautiful photos all around your house.”

Dean sits up a little. “You like those?”

“They’re very striking.” The photos all over the Winchester home have been somewhat relegated to the background after weeks of Castiel’s living there, but every so often one will catch his eye, distracting him for a few minutes in contemplating its meaning and context. His room has three photos, all of which are set at eye height on various walls, and he knows that the main corridor leading down to his room has four, the kitchen has three, and the stairs leading up to the study has another three. “I can feel the story behind each one, though I have no idea what those stories may be.”

Unexpectedly, Dean’s eyes light up. “Cool. I, uh… I took some of those, you know.”

“Really?”

“What, you think a decorator put them there?” Dean says with a laugh. “They’re pretty much evenly spread out between me, Mom and Dad. Sam picked the frames, chose where to put them.”

“Who took the photo that’s in the kitchen, the one of that field with a tree in the distance, and the fence just on the edge of bottom right?”

“You’re lookin’ at him,” Dean says. “That’s from a road trip when I was… ten, I think? Most of them were from that time or earlier.”

Castiel nods. “It’s beautiful.”

Dean starts a little, and a flush rises up his neck. “I was ten, dude. What the hell did I know about perspective?”

“Doesn’t make it not beautiful.” Castiel may have speculated about those photos, but he hadn’t considered that it was a family affair, with each Winchester contributing to their existence and placement through the house. He wonders what it feels like to have that kind of drive. “It must have been quite the operation to set them up.”

“We didn’t do it all in one go. I don’t even remember most of them.”

“Do you have any favorites?”

“Hey, hey – careful.” Dean slips off the bars in a forward movement, his hands out and low as though expecting Castiel to tip over face first onto the ground. “You’re making me nervous.”

“I’ll slow down.” Castiel does just that, while Dean leans against the closest support pole, his arms crossed. “So? Any favorite photo?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t thought about it. Uh… there’s one Mom took, it should still be in your room, of one of those old-fashioned bathtubs? It’s Grandma Deanna’s, and if you squint the tap looks like a face. Like, the snout is the nose, and the little eyes are just above? It used to freak the hell out of me when I was a kid.”

Castiel knows exactly which one Dean’s talking about, though he can’t recall ever seeing a face in the tap. He shall have to check later. “You were so traumatized by that photo you remember exactly where it is in the house.”

Dean barks a laugh. “Of course I know where it is. It used to be on the stairs but me and Sam got into prank wars sometimes when we were kids? He thought he was being so clever switching it out with one of the photos in my room.”

“And you switched it back?”

“Hell no, couldn’t let him know he’d got to me! Left it right where it is, got back at him some other way.”

Castiel puts his feet down, skidding to a halt. “You left it?”

“Yeah?”

“But…” Castiel stands up sharply, the seat of the swing hitting against the back of his thighs. “Dean, am I sleeping in your room?”

Dean laughs. “You didn’t know?”

“Nobody said,” Castiel says, alarmed. “Mary told me I could take any room, and it’s closest to the study, so I thought—”

“Hey, it’s fine. It hasn’t been my actual room in years.”

“No, I wouldn’t have taken it if I’d known, I’m so sorry. I can change rooms, I don’t have that many personal effects.”

“Whoa whoa, slow down.” Dean reaches out, grabbing Castiel’s shoulder with a strong hand and squeezing. The touch is startling, and effective in stopping Castiel from doing something rash, such as running all the way back to the house so he can pack all his things and toss them out the window. Dean holds his other hand out in front of Castiel’s face, like a stop sign. “Chill. It’s a guest room now, that’s what it’s for.”

“But you’ve moved back into the house,” Castiel says. “Because of me, you had to take another room.”

“Not the first time. Cas. _Cas._ ” Dean finds Castiel’s gaze and holds it, his eyes imploring and earnest despite his amused smirk. “It’s no big.”

“I place a great deal of importance on the private spaces we make for ourselves.” It occurs to Castiel that Dean’s eyes really do look nicest under full sunlight. “It’s upsetting to think I might’ve invaded yours.”

“I appreciate the thought, but it’s cool. Really.” Dean puts his hands together, though it takes Castiel a second to pass the begging gesture as a tease. “All my stuff’s out of there, even the shelves.”

“But not the photos on the wall.”

“’Cause those are part of a matched set,” Dean says. “Plus now _you_ get to deal with Grandma Deanna’s creature bathtub.”

“Oh no,” Castiel says.

“Yeah, so I’m totally not—” Dean freezes, noticing something or someone behind Castiel’s right shoulder, and sits up so sharply that he almost knocks his head against the bar behind him.

Though the urge to turn and gawk is strong, Castiel thinks it might be impolite, so he resists. He watches Dean instead, noting the color in his cheeks, the way he carefully extricates himself from the monkey bars and stands up straight, tall yet casual as he nods a greeting at whoever it is he’s seen.

“Hey,” Dean says.

A man comes into view, walking a pitbull as he does. He’s tall, has close-cropped dark hair, is about Dean’s age, and – most hilarious of all – is wearing a plaid shirt over a plain tee, as though he hails from the same fashion school as Dean. “Hey there,” the man says. “Who’s your friend?”

Castiel starts to speak but Dean cuts him quickly, “This is Cas, he’s – he’s – he’s a friend.”

“I’ve heard of those,” the man says with a laugh.

“Hello,” Castiel says.

“Hi, I’m Donnie,” the man says. “And this is Max.”

Castiel dismounts from the swing so he can lower himself down and offer his hand to the dog. “Hello, Max.” Max is deserving of Castiel’s full attention, so he misses most of Dean and Donnie’s small talk, and only just catches the tail end of Donnie saying, “...come over, haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Been busy, man,” Dean says. “It happens. Hey Cas, come on, we gotta go.”

Castiel gives Max one last pat before standing up, and then waves as he and his owner go off. He starts at the touch of Dean’s arm on his elbow, pulling him away from the swings and back to where they parked. Castiel waits until they’re a decent distance away before saying, “I wasn’t aware that we’re on a schedule.”

“We’re not,” Dean says, “but there’s only so many times you can turn down a dude before it gets ugly.”

“You didn’t have to. I wouldn’t have minded waiting, if you wanted to spend time with your friend.”

Dean snorts, and then abruptly stops walking. He turns slowly to face Castiel, pinning him in place with an alarmingly serious expression. “Do you get what that means? We’re talking ‘bout a hook-up here.”

“Oh. Oh!” Castiel looks back in Donnie’s direction, where man and dog have almost disappeared down the street. “You’re right, I didn’t understand.”

“Would that be a problem?” Dean says.

“Ah, um.” Castiel swallows. “I’m sorry, but I really don’t think I can walk all the way back to the house. I suppose I could if I _had_ to, but I don’t even come this far with my bike, so it would a little daunting. Unless you’ll be quick? I’m not disparaging your prowess, of course, if you’re going to, um. I suppose I could get a waffle at the shop to while away the time.”

Dean’s face, which a moment ago was stony, has by increments replaced severity with wry amusement. “I wouldn’t ditch you for a hook-up.”

“Or I could drive your car back to the house, and you figure out your own way home.”

Dean bursts with laughter, and slaps Castiel’s shoulder. “That’s a good one, Cas, hilarious. No.”

“I thought that that was the function of… what is it, bro-code? I never could remember Balthazar’s lessons on the matter.”

“I think you’re better off following your own gut,” Dean says, still chuckling. “And I’ll get you back to the house, don’t worry. I’m not that much of an asshole.”

“I don’t think you’re an asshole,” Castiel says.

  


* * *

  


It’s strange to return to his room now that he’s aware that it was once Dean’s room. Castiel sits on the chair by the dresser and tries to imagine what it might have looked like when it belonged to a man who now has guitars on his wall.

It’s not even that big a room, truth be told. There’s surplus space near the door that leads to the bathroom, but otherwise it’s pretty cozy and suitable for Castiel’s needs. Additionally, there are at least two larger rooms upstairs, not including the presumably monstrous master bedroom. The only thing it has going for it is that it’s at the far end of the house, though Castiel is loath to apply his own reasons for picking this room to Dean.

The next time Castiel sees Dean is at dinner the following day. It’s a typical dinner in the primary dining room, Mary at the head with Dean and Castiel flanking her, and the conversation is typical as well. Dean reports on the work being done in his apartment, Mary shares a few stories from her yoga class and progress on her write-up.

Castiel waits for a decent opening and then says, “I was wondering. Mary, Dean told me that the room I’m staying in now used to be his bedroom. You didn’t say anything?”

“Oh dear,” Mary says, “was I supposed to? It hasn’t been his room for a while.”

“Told you,” Dean says.

“No, it’s fine,” Castiel says, “it’s just a surprise. Did you pick it for him? Or…”

“Actually, Dean’s first room that was completely his was on the second floor, next to the nursery,” Mary says. “He liked that room because then he could keep an eye on his baby brother.”

“So Mom says,” Dean cuts in. “It’s not like _I_ remember.”

“You were such a sweet big brother.” Mary strokes a hand down Dean’s face, and it’s fascinating how Dean leans into it instead of away. Also interesting is the way Dean smiles almost bashfully. “I’m sure it was the same with you and Anna.”

“Possibly,” Castiel says. “But when did Dean move to the other room?”

“Pre-teen hormones,” Mary says, while Dean protests with an annoyed sound. “He said he needed more space for his gear, so we let him pick where he wanted to go next.”

“Plus I didn’t wanna bug people when I practiced.” Dean mimes playing a guitar.

“Oh,” Castiel says. “I thought perhaps you picked that room because it’s on the first floor, and thus easier to sneak out.”

Mary’s smile freezes, and she slowly turns to Dean, who blurts out, “No, no! No way. Nu-uh.”

“Dean!” Mary exclaims.

“It’s like years too late to get on my case for that,” Dean says.

Mary frowns. “Did you ever sneak out?”

“A couple of times, but it’s not like that, Mom. It’s not ‘cause I was unhappy with the rules or, or, afraid to ask you if I could do things. I did it ‘cause it’s just something other kids did, and it felt like... it’s something I should do too.”

Mary exhales. “Oh, Dean.”

“I know,” Dean says sheepishly. “It’s dumb.”

“No, it’s not dumb,” Mary says. “It’s a rite of passage, I suppose.”

It’s charming how Dean ducks his head, trying to hide his self-consciousness by taking a drink. He’s a grown man, taller than his mother and sporting stubble, yet for a moment Castiel can see the boy he must have been once, loud-mouthed but deferential and awkward. Dean still has those traits now, but they must have been amplified when he was younger, as is often the case. Castiel is happy when Mary touches Dean again, this time a gentle pat at the top of his head.

“I apologize for bringing this up,” Castiel says. 

“Then I could’ve taken this secret to the grave?” Dean mutters. “ _You_ ever sneak out of the house, Cas?”

“Many times.”

Dean seems skeptical. “Really?”

“An absent parent makes it easier,” Castiel says. “Though I never snuck out for anything scandalous. It was usually to go to the library, or to meet people my brothers didn’t like.”

Mary make a surprised sound. “Why would you need to sneak out to the library?”

“Because I wasn’t supposed to go alone,” Castiel says. “But I hated having to wait for one of my brothers to be free to take me, and they always rushed me along. I couldn’t take my time the way I wanted.”

“That is the nerdiest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” Dean says.

“Dean,” Mary says.

“What, like you don’t go potty mouth when you think I’m not listening?”

“I meant the ‘nerd’ part,” Mary says.

“I thought you’d already decided that I’m a nerd,” Castiel says. “You’re just reaffirming your own opinion.”

“It’s not a _bad_ thing,” Dean says. “My best friends are nerds.”

“So why don’t you just say that _you’re_ a nerd?” Castiel asks. “You must be one, to have close friends whom you’d define as such.”

Dean sputters. “I’m more on the geek end of the spectrum.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Castiel says.

“Neither do I, frankly,” Mary says. “Kids these days and their jargon.”

Dean makes an unimpressed face, but there is amusement in the way he snorts and shakes his head. As Dean returns his attention to his meal, he misses Mary’s scrutinizing squint at the top of his head. Mary raises her gaze up to Castiel, a question in her eyes, but Castiel can only shrug. All Castiel knows that Dean is not as stressed around Castiel as he once was, and Castiel’s going to be relieved for mother and son’s sake, instead of trying to dissect it.

After a beat Mary shrugs too, and changes topic by asking if anyone’s tried that new Mexican place in town.


	7. i gotta have some of your attention, give it to me

The next weekend, Sam drops by for a visit. Castiel learns about his arrival a few days in advance from Dean, who shares this information during one of their impromptu – yet by now regular – mini-conferences in the kitchen.

“They say it’s for the summer break but I’m thinking it’s to announce their engagement,” Dean says, “but we’re gonna act surprised anyway.”

“Why?” Castiel asks.

“Because it’s fun.” Dean just got back to the house and is still in his work clothes, which in his case means more plaid on top of a plain shirt which now has grease stains on it. Castiel has so far avoided asking the obvious question of why Dean needs to be hands-on in his restoration business despite being the boss, because the answer is equally obvious. Dean likes doing things himself where he can, be it work-related or household-related, or in this case culinary-related, as Dean is putting his own sandwich together.

“You’re going to ruin your dinner,” Castiel says.

“You keep saying that.” Dean pointedly adds another slice of bologna. “Shouldn’t you know better than to underestimate me by now?”

“It’s not a value judgement. Benny’s meals are excellent, and it would be a shame to miss out on any of that.”

Behind them, Benny pipes up with, “What was that?”

Dean raises his voice so it carries around Castiel, “He says your cooking’s excellent and I might miss out if I get a snack beforehand.”

“Easy solution there, chief,” Benny says. “Come over here more often.”

“Ha,” Dean says. “I already live here again, man. And now _you_ get to cook for Sammy and the lovely Jessica Moore.”

“Fridge’s all stocked up already,” Benny says.

“Sam eats like a horse,” Dean tells Castiel. “Actually, you can totally trade tips with him on… healthy eating or whatever it is it’s called these days.”

All Castiel knows of Sam comes from Mary’s stories, plus the new tidbits that Dean has deigned to share recently, this voracious appetite of Sam’s being another one of them. Castiel is curious about Sam the same way he’s curious about many things, but he’s getting a great deal of enjoyment watching _Dean_ talk about his brother.

Whenever Mary talks about Sam, she describes a boy with floppy hair and a bright smile, who was polite and sweet but raised holy hell so he could go to his middle school (and later high school) of choice, instead of the options she and John preferred. Mary doesn’t make the comparison herself, but Castiel slots that description neatly to her earlier descriptions of Dean as an easy-going and far more agreeable boy. Castiel tries to overlay this with _Dean’s_ descriptions, which leans more towards the kindest, smartest puppy who can do no wrong and is going to save the world with his brain someday.

Castiel finds himself rather looking forward to meet Sam and his (presumable) fiancée, so much so, that on the Friday night they’re to arrive, he volunteers to stay in the lounge to greet them.

The first thing Castiel thinks, when he opens the door to their knocking, is that everyone must have neglected to mention Sam’s ridiculous proportions on purpose. Castiel takes a step back, startled, until Sam smiles and offers a hand.

“Oh hey, it’s Cas, right?” Sam asks. “Mom told us about you. I’m Sam, and this is Jess.”

“Hi!” Jess says. “I know we’re a little early.”

“No cause for concern,” Castiel says. “Do you need help with your luggage?”

“I’m good.” They’ve traveled light, and Sam carries both bags in while Castiel closes the door. “Uh, did Mom say which room we’re taking? If not, I want the one at the top of the stairs.”

“That should be fine,” Castiel says. “Both of you should freshen up first, but I can get some drinks ready for you?”

“Oh my God yes please,” Jess groans.

Castiel’s skills behind the bar are still fledgling, but with Mary’s guidance he’s been getting better with mixing and presentation. He takes Sam and Jess’s orders and then retreats to the lounge to set up a tray for them, as well as for Mary and Dean when they come down. As Castiel does his mixing, his eye is drawn up to the familiar portrait on the far wall. John doesn’t _look_ that tall as to have sired such distinctive boys, but admittedly he’s sitting down and perspective can be deceiving.

Footsteps approach from the curved staircase in the foyer, and there’s no clicking sound so it can’t be Mary.

“Dean, I’m making drinks,” Castiel calls out. “Any requests?”

Dean turns the corner and enters the lounge in the motion of fixing his cuffs. Castiel’s fingers fumble a little, but thankfully he doesn’t drop anything.

“Do you know where we’re going?” Dean asks. “What’ll be good for an opener?”

Dean’s dressed in a dark dinner suit with classic lines, matched with a light grey shirt that highlights his healthy tan. There are all sorts of angles on display now that were otherwise hidden by his usual plaid – the slope of his back, the thickness where waist meets hips – and his chest looks so solid that Castiel thinks that if he were to throw himself at Dean, he would bounce off harmlessly. Castiel could describe the entire effect as impeccable, though he’s not entirely sure if Dean looks so good because he’s wearing them, or if the clothes look so good because they’re being worn by _Dean_. Castiel settles on it being an excellent example of symbiosis.

“Carlton, I believe,” Castiel says. “Pamela made the reservation.”

Dean leans against the bar, and it’s ridiculous how the sharp cuffs flatter his wrists. He’s combed his hair and shaved, too, which is startling because Castiel had so gotten used to the semi-spiky do and lazy not-quite-beard. That look made Castiel feel like they were kindred spirits, seeing as Castiel can barely stay clean-shaven even when he tries, but now Dean is transformed into almost someone else entirely. Only _almost_ , because only Dean can lean against the bar counter and poke at Castiel’s shirt the way he does now.

“Dude,” Dean says. “You’re not dressed.”

“Hmm? Oh, I’m not going.” Castiel pushes a glass of whiskey and soda towards him. “I looked it up on the internet, the steak has an excellent rating.”

“What do you mean, you’re not going?” Dean says. “The hell not?”

“It’s a family dinner, Dean.” Castiel lowers his voice when he adds, “Plus Sam and Jess’s announcement is going to be a surprise.”

“Yeah but…” Dean looks unhappy.

Castiel’s own stomach drops at the sight, though it’s nice to have a distraction from the twitching urge in his hands to touch Dean’s jaw, just to find out if the skin there is smooth as it looks. “It would be too awkward for me to be there.”

“No, it won’t,” Dean says.

“Yes, it will, you know that well enough.” Castiel perks up when he hears Mary’s heels on the staircase. “That should be your mother.”

Mary is resplendent in a lavender dinner dress and her hair done up, though the best part is how she looks around the lounge excitedly. “Are they here?”

“They’re freshening up,” Castiel says. “Have a cocktail. You look lovely.”

“Oh, thank you!” Mary says, beaming.

“Mom,” Dean says, “Cas said he isn’t joining us.”

“Ah yes, didn’t I mention that?” Mary takes the cocktail from Castiel with a smile. “Cas doesn’t mind. Do you?”

“That’s right,” Castiel says. “I don’t mind.”

Dean seems poised to argue, but is derailed when Sam and Jess reappear and the lounge erupts in squeals and hugs. The joy is infectious. Mary hugs Sam, Dean hugs Jess, then they switch, then there’s a mild cuddle pile, and then Mary’s pulling Sam and Jess together on either side of her while Dean and Sam make in-joke gestures at each other.

They talk over each other with the kind of ease that comes from knowing each other well. Castiel catches some of the threads as they intertwine and intersect, such as how Sam and Jess are looking for a new place, but will only commit after they find out if Jess is getting the promotion she’s gunning for. They’re also definitely coming for Mary’s birthday party by hook or by crook, and they insist that Mary not worry about that.

“Who’re you gonna bring this year, Bela?” Sam asks.

“Ha ha funny,” Dean says dryly.

Sam grins. “You know I’m never gonna let that go.”

Mary clucks her tongue. “Oh Sam, be nice.”

“Let’s not talk about bad news,” Dean says. “Good news. Let’s go for good news. Jess is climbing that ladder, so how about you? There some healthy competition between you guys?”

Castiel slips out from behind the bar and maneuvers between the familial congress to present the drinks to their respective owners. He tries to look like he’s not listening in, or at least like he’s not listening in avidly to their exchange of updates and anecdotes – traffic was good, Sam wants to know about Mary’s thesis, Jess is looking forward to a relaxing weekend, Dean wants Sam’s advice about something to do with work that Castiel doesn’t quite catch.

They could go at it for a while, so it’s a shame when Castiel clears his throat. “Excuse me, I think you’d better get a move on.”

“Oh yes, of course,” Mary says. “Thank you.”

Castiel watches them pour out of the house, chatting enthusiastically and arms interlinked (Sam with Jess, Dean with Mary) and then moves behind the bar to clear up the glasses when the door clicks shut.

It’s quiet now, the energy sapped from the room. Castiel wilts a little, but recovers enough to dutifully clean things up. As he does, his gaze is drawn back to the Winchester family portrait. The more he learns of the Winchesters the more he thinks the portrait paints an inaccurate picture. It’s not an entirely formal piece but there should be more light colors, more dynamic movement. _Castiel’s_ family should probably have gone for a formal piece, and he can far too easily picture Michael and Luke flanking Father and Mother, with Castiel, Anna and Balthazar arranged neatly at the back.

Castiel takes out his phone and sends a message to Anna: _Do you have any opinions of the Winchester portrait in the lounge?_

There’s no reply even after Castiel’s done clearing up and returned to the study and resumed editing. Feeling reckless, Castiel sends a message to Balthazar, the first he’s sent in months: _Hello, how are things with you? Just thought I’d check in_.

Balthazar stays silent but Anna replies much later, just after Castiel’s wrapped up work and is making tea in the pantry. With the time difference she should be sleeping by now, but Anna’s schedule is a strange one. _I like that they’re smiling. Its bit serious but suits feel of reception area. It creep you out? ;)_

Castiel smiles. _No. Just wondered what it would be like if we had one._

_Eww. M+L would love it tho._

He laughs and types: _I thought so as well._

They chat a little more before Anna begs off for the night. She has a presentation in a few days but finally got a breakthrough on her largest piece, and has been pushing hard today to milk that energy. Castiel wishes her luck and sets his phone down, and only then realizes that he’s not alone.

“Oh,” Castiel says. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

It being late, most of the lights on the split level are off, save in the pantry itself. This means that Dean’s mostly in the shadow of the nearby landing. “Okay,” Dean says quietly, “ _that_ is the most surprising thing I’ve heard all night. Catching up on hot gossip?”

“My sister,” Castiel says. “Why are you whispering?”

“Habit, I guess.” Dean steps into the pantry and squints against the light. “Thought I heard something, just wanted to check before calling it a day.”

“Would you like some tea?” Castiel raises his mug. “Helps me sleep.”

Dean picks up the box to read the label. His jacket’s gone, but the grey shirt is just as flattering on him without it. Castiel wonders how Dean looks like with a tie. Probably really dashing. “It actually work?” Dean asks.

“Not consistently, but when it does, it does very well.”

“I’ll pass, but thanks.” Dean puts a small cardboard box on the countertop. “So hey, this is for you.”

Castiel starts. “For me?”

“Yeah. It’s just some eclairs and things. They got some famous pastry chef in for the night, so I figured, why not.” Dean shrugs. “I’m more a pie guy myself, but these are pretty good.”

Castiel knows it’s a casual gesture, but he can’t help but be struck humble by it; perhaps it’s the culmination of a long day of work, and missing Anna, and the usual wondering if he’s already peaked and everything else from this point in his life is just a continuous roll downhill. Dean barely knows him, and doesn’t even like him, but he’d remembered him enough for this tiny thing. It reminds Castiel about his resolution to be kind, to be thankful, to be grateful. He clutches the box to his chest, feeling small.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says. “Would you like to share?”

“What, no, that’s all for you, I’m stuffed.” Dean frowns. “You okay?”

“Yes, I’m just tired, so this is a nice pick-me-up. Did Sam and Jess make the announcement?”

“Oh, oh yeah, it was great.” Dean grins. “Ask Jess to show you the ring tomorrow morning, it’s a doozy.”

“I’ll do that. I’m glad it was a good dinner.”

“Yeah,” Dean trails off. Castiel can’t be sure if this sudden awkwardness is Dean wanting to say more but unable to, or if Dean doesn’t know what to make of Castiel’s weirdness over the dessert. Castiel hopes it’s not the second, but before he can salvage the moment Dean shakes his head and says, “Yeah. Good night then.”

Castiel nods. “Good night. Thank you again.”

He watches Dean disappear back down the hall, and then listens as Dean’s footsteps move up the stairs into the other side of the house. Castiel then looks at the box, decides to hell with it, and opens it up for a late night binge snack.


	8. you play hide and seek with your true intentions

Sam and Jess are to spend the entire weekend here, which means low-key Winchester festivities for everyone starting with the fancy Friday dinner. Saturday is barbecue day, so when Castiel trudges down for breakfast he’s greeted by the sight of Benny and Pamela setting up the grill on the terrace. Also impressive is the day’s breakfast spread, which is on the larger picnic table instead of the usual garden table. Sam is already sitting there, eyes closed and stirring a cup of coffee.

“May I join you?” Castiel asks.

“Hmm? Oh yeah, of course.” Sam yawns. “I’m not really the type to sleep in, even on weekends.”

“I’ve been told that helps maintain sleep rhythms.”

“Sure, if you balance it with _going_ to sleep at a decent hour.”

Castiel settles at the table at an angle to Sam and picks at the breakfast offerings. Sam doesn’t seem fully awake but has already sampled the wares, notably the bread, fruit and cereal. Castiel remembers Dean’s note about Sam’s appetite, and hides a smile behind his own coffee cup.

It’s quiet for a while, aside from Benny’s gentle urgings at the grill to get it to cooperate, and Castiel takes the deep breaths of morning air that he enjoys so. The peace is only interrupted when Jess arrives, looking far more alert than her fiancé, much to Sam’s disgruntled muttering.

“Good morning,” Jess says, plopping down next to Sam. “Hi Benny! Is it too late to make a request for the grill?”

“It’s only too late when it’s all packed up,” Benny says amiably. “What can I do you for?”

Jess, who’s obviously been to the Winchester home many times, describes a dish that Benny once made that she adores – something with shrimp, though Castiel doesn’t catch the specific word for it – which Benny says he’s more than happy to whip up. Jess then turns to Castiel, and it’s as good a time as many to bring it up.

“Congratulations,” Castiel says. “On your engagement, that is.”

“Oh! Thank you.” Jess flushes, and then wrinkles her nose at Sam. “That’s for you, too, you know.”

Sam stifles a laugh and exaggeratedly open his eyes. “Thank you, Cas. It was one of the happiest days of my life when Jess said yes.”

“We were thinking of a spring wedding. Will you still be around by then? Mary said that you’re—” Jess’s body jolts a little, and she sends a quick frown Sam’s way before turning back to Cas, “—that you’re helping out with her thesis, but she didn’t mention how long that would take.”

“Only a few more months, unless her supervisors decide it needs more work,” Castiel says. “I think I’ll still be in the area in the spring, though.”

“Great!” Jess says. “We’re doing at least one reception here, for sure. You should totally come.”

“I’d love to, thank you. I’d imagine the house looks spectacular during events.”

“Oh! Well, you’ll get to see that for Mary’s birthday,” Jess says. “It’s just next month, are you involved in that one as well?”

“Don’t think so, but I should be here.”

Jess has a lot of energy in the morning, and proceeds to ask Castiel questions about the work he does for Mary. Castiel explains the best he can about what it’s like to sort through information about the town, and the interesting observations that Mary’s found, while Jess listens avidly.

“Maybe I should get a doctorate,” Jess says.

“About what?” Castiel asks.

“I’m in environmental tech,” Jess says. “Mostly in product development right now, but there are a couple of case studies I can totally see being worth writing about in detail. What do you do? I mean, before…”

“Number crunching, mostly. Accounting and the like. To be honest, I enjoy copyediting more.”

Jess smiles. “More relaxing?”

“Very,” Castiel says.

“Maybe you should take up copyediting, sweetpea,” Jess says.

“You say that like I don’t enjoy the stress,” Sam says, teasing. “I eat stress for breakfast.”

“Who eats stress for breakfast?” Mary asks, arriving at the breakfast table.

“Guess,” Jess says.

“Both my boys qualify,” Mary says.

“See!” Sam exclaims. “I keep telling you, don’t let Dean fool you with that devil-may-care attitude of his. He probably does it just to make me look boring in comparison.”

“Aww,” Jess says, reaching over to scratch behind Sam’s ear, “you’re never boring.”

Mary’s arrival is a boon, and Castiel relaxes as the conversation moves on without him. He eats and listens while Jess asks Mary about her plans for her birthday party, to which Mary groans and says she’d rather not do anything at all and has half a mind to just let Dean take over the whole thing since he might still be here by the time it rolls around. After that they talk about Jess’s family and other people that Castiel’s never heard of before today.

Castiel starts tuning out a little, but is immediately drawn back in when Mary says, “Yes, of course you can use the pool, that’s what it’s there for.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just been such a craving,” Jess says. “The one at the condo is great but with the weather being what it is lately it’s just been so crowded, it’s hard to get proper laps in.”

“Oh Cas,” Mary says, “if you want to learn to swim you can ask Jess. She’s a certified instructor.”

Sam sighs. “That’s my fiancée. Always showing me up.”

“Then make it a challenge, lawyer boy,” Jess responds. “Cas, you can’t swim?”

“No,” Castiel says. “I never thought to learn but… it might be interesting? I don’t have swimwear, though.”

“Ask Meg,” Mary says. “I have guests all the time who don’t bring their own gear and want to use the pool, so we always have a few sets around the house.”

“That is remarkably thoughtful of you,” Castiel says. “In general, I mean, not just for me.”

Mary shrugs. “It’s happened one too many times, and got annoying.”

They decide to take a dip before the barbecue, when the sun is higher in the sky. Castiel goes up to his study to get some work done for a few hours, and emerges when it’s time – only belatedly remembering that he’s supposed to see Meg first.

He finds Meg sitting on her usual bench at the back of the house, thumbing through a magazine. She smiles when Castiel relays his request, and gestures for him to follow as they head to the other guest room on the ground floor. Once there, Meg pulls out a stepstool and starts rummaging in the upper compartment of the closet.

“Why do you keep the spare swimwear here?” Castiel asks. “Can I help?”

“Because it’s the closest to the pool, and no.”

“What if a guest was using this room? Would you interrupt them to collect?”

“You know, that has not been a problem so far.” Meg takes a plastic container to the nearby table, opening it up and rummaging through. “Feel free to browse, sport.”

Castiel picks up the second piece he sees, a dark blue set that feels smooth but strong. “This looks about my size.”

“This would do you better.” Meg hands over a pair that almost look like regular shorts, bound together by string at the waist.

Castiel makes a face. “No, I like this one.”

“You looking for blue? Got some.” Meg switches out for another pair in that color, but still shorts.

“Why’d you ask me to browse if you’re picking?”

Meg plucks the blue piece from Castiel’s hands and, keeping her eyes on his, slowly stretches them, showing off the elasticity of the piece. “Square cut trunks. Really?”

“These are not all that different from my cycling shorts.”

“Much smaller, though.”

“Oh!” Castiel smiles. “I appreciate the concern, but I truly don’t care.”

Meg has the most cryptic facial expressions. “Fine. You sure I can’t convince you to take something a little more...?”

“All right. But not those.” Castiel settles on another set of trunks, also dark blue, but are significantly generous in size and more similar to his usual cycling shorts. Meg also puts a set of goggles in his hands, which Castiel must admit hadn’t crossed his mind at all. Castiel expresses his sheepishness about the matter, but Meg just sighs.

“You can change here,” Meg says. “Don’t forget to put on sunscreen, and there’ll be towels out on the deck. Do you need a robe?” When Castiel says that he’s good, she nods and takes her leave.

Now, Castiel has only been in this guest room once, when he first arrived and was choosing a room for himself. He’s never been in it since, and it’s not in an area of the house he frequents (which is limited to the back with his room, the kitchen and dining room, along with the study and pantry on the split-level). _This_ guest room is near the front of the house, and is just around the corner from the foyer and the grand staircase to the first floor. Hence, it is understandable that no one would think that he’s in this room at this particular moment.

This is the explanation that occurs to Castiel when he hears voices outside. There’s very little background noise aside from the rustle of Castiel’s clothes as he undresses, so he hears the footsteps and the muffled conversation between persons who are apparently mobile and walking past.

“…there’s also, I don’t know, something kinda vulnerable about him.” A male voice, quiet, probably Dean.

There’s a soft scuffle, which makes no sense until Castiel hears of low, furious hissing of an argument made in whispers. He just catches Sam’s voice when it rises angrily with, “—you think she’s taking _advantage_ of—” before he’s quickly hushed.

Then they’re gone, leaving Castiel bewildered and curious.

Castiel finishes getting ready and waits a few minutes for politeness sake, hoping that Dean and Sam have moved on to elsewhere in the house. He carefully opens the door and they’re nowhere to be seen, so he makes his way down to the swimming pool.

The first touch of sunlight on his mostly bare skin makes Castiel want to scratch himself, but he resists. He’s been more active about going outside lately but he’s never had to use this much sunscreen before at one time.

The Winchester swimming pool is adjacent to the terrace, and a portion of it (plus a Jacuzzi which is currently switched off) is on a lower, sunken level compared to the rest. Jess is doing a slow lap on the higher portion of the pool and – although Castiel knows very little about swimming – her posture seems impressive, her legs straight and strong. Castiel watches her complete the lap and do that funny underwater twist that brings her back down the other direction.

Jess comes to stop in front of Castiel and runs a hand over her ponytail. “It’s so peaceful here,” she says. “I’d love to come by more often.”

“You said you live in a condo?” Castiel asks.

“Yes, and it’s otherwise pretty great,” Jess says. “Near both our workplaces, fantastic facilities, and the super is really cool. But… city homes, you know? Can’t filter out all the noise.”

“One day, perhaps you can have a place like this.”

“Maybe,” Jess says wistfully. “Okay, now you. Let’s do some warm-ups.”

Swimming requires warm-ups and stretching beforehand, which are at least things Castiel knows how to do by now. Castiel rinses under the deck shower and then does a few stretches while Jess talks him through the exercises they’re going to start with.

Castiel slowly bends over to touch his toes, but jerks up in surprise at a loud bang nearby. He follows Jess’s gaze over to where Dean is hovering just inside one of the terrace doors, rubbing his forehead.

“Dude,” Sam says, walking past Dean onto the deck, “the door’s wide open, how did you even run into it?”

“Whatever,” Dean says. “Move!”

Castiel frowns. “Dean, are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Dean says absently, moving away from the poolside to the cooler set up by the picnic table. He picks up a bottle from the cooler and sets it to his forehead, and then scowls when he notices that they’re still watching him. “I’m fine! Geez.”

“Okay,” Jess says slowly. “Cas, come on in, we’ll do some breathing exercises.”

Castiel’s been in swimming pools before, but always just to lounge, not to actually swim. He wonders why he never bothered learning. Probably the same reason why he never bothered taking up any other sports, or keeping up with his cycling. Regardless, there may be a silver lining in his past disinterest, because Jess is far more patient and friendly than any other pool instructor he could possibly have had.

He learns some basics, such as holding and releasing his breath, floating, and some childish kicks against the side of the pool that are actually more tiring than they look. Throughout, he can hear Dean and Sam chatting in the background, and the eventual addition of Mary’s voice when she makes her entrance.

Castiel tries to pay attention to Jess, really he does. He even manages to absorb most of her opening lessons, up until the rest of the Winchester clan get up and set their robes down to join them in the pool.

Sam makes a flourishing bow for the others to go first, and Mary takes an elegant dive that Castiel thinks he will never be able to do in his lifetime. As for Dean, he first peels off an oversized Hawaiian shirt, revealing that he’s _actually_ wearing the kind of drawstring shorts that Meg was showing Castiel earlier. Castiel briefly wonders if he’d made a faux pass picking his current pair, but then he notices that Sam has square-cut trunks similar to what Castiel chose earlier before Meg vetoed him.

Dean puts his hands in front of him and takes a leaping dive into the pool. His technique is similar to Mary’s but different enough that the motion draws the eye up the muscled curve of Dean’s back as he jumps, a display of strength and power that catches Castiel’s breath. Through the clear water Castiel can just see the distorted figure of Dean glide across the bottom of the pool before rising up and surfacing with a head flick. He doesn’t heave for breath the way Castiel does.

A yell draws Castiel’s attention away, and Jess shrieks just as Sam takes a running jump towards the pool, leaping into the air with his legs tucked inside him. That doesn’t look comfortable at all, and Castiel quickly grabs the edge of the pool as water sloshes dramatically down from point of impact.

“Maybe that’s enough for now.” Castiel lifts his goggles up to the top of his head and taps his nose. “I’m sure you want to swim your fill as well. I don’t want to keep you.”

“You sure?” Jess asks. “All right.”

She moves away from him and the shallower end of the pool, taking long breaststroke kicks with head above water, until Sam emerges from the water like a dark-haired leviathan to grab her. They laugh and push at each other, and even Mary – remarkably agile – joins the fray, diving underneath to grab at their feet.

Castiel lifts himself out of the pool and sits on the side, his legs still in the water. The rivulets of water rolling off of him feel nice, but overall his body feels heavy, clumsier out of the water. He also can’t help comparing himself to the various actual swimmers in front of him, though he knows he shouldn’t.

When they move further into the pool, the water level drops to below Mary and Dean’s collarbones. Mary maneuvers onto her back, floating with her arms by her side, while Dean does a few small laps back and forth. Dean’s hair when damp turns dark brown, though the fine hairs on his body are practically invisible under sunlight. When Dean moves, his shoulders and arms flex in such ways that Castiel itches to put his hands there to feel the movement of muscle under his palms.

Castiel tries not to look down at himself, conscious as he is of the wiry hair between his nipples, and the coarser hair around his navel and lower. He makes a tactical retreat into the pool, and starts doing one of Jess’s exercises: his hands braced on the side of the pool, he kicks out backward, learning the balance of his body.

“Hey stranger,” Mary says, appearing close by. “Ready for some competitive laps?”

“Of course, just give me a second to warm up,” Castiel says.

Mary laughs. “Actually, I forgot to mention this to you earlier, but you can do stretches in the pool. It helps you balance and you can do some of the more challenging poses.”

“Oh, that didn’t occur to me. I’ll consider that.”

“Come on.” Mary nudges Castiel’s shoulder, urging him to face her. “Let’s do some synchronized floating.”

Following Mary’s instructions – and with a helpful hand on his back – Castiel finds himself bracing the back of his head on the edge of the pool, while the rest of his body floats on the water. Mary takes the space next to him for the same pose and sighs in contentment.

This pose is actually quite soothing, once Castiel gets the hang of breathing and keeping his balance. He likes the way water laps at his sides, and how his limbs feel buoyant. It’s almost like flying, or perhaps falling really, really slowly.

Castiel hums softly, an old tune his memory decides to rustle up for the occasion. He hums, and runs his hands in and out of water, savoring the sensation between his fingertips. At some point he closes his eyes, and is so startled when Dean’s voice coming from close by: “Is that Wagner?”

Castiel flails in surprise, which gets him a loud “Whoa!” and Dean’s strong hand on his arm to help him get back on his feet without knocking his head. “Sorry man, I didn’t mean to… I guess you were in the zone there, huh.”

“Meditating,” Mary says, eyes closed and still in her pose.

“Is it Wagner?” Castiel asks. “I don’t know. It’s just something I remember from um… One of my brothers liked this piece, he used to play it and others like it when he studied.”

“Ooh, a brother,” Jess calls out from nearby. “So are you the Sam or Dean in that arrangement?”

“I’m not sure what that means.”

“She means,” Sam says, “are you the brilliant, charismatic brother, or the brother who has a frightening obsession with inanimate objects, especially his car?”

“Ha!” Dean yells. “Are you the brilliant, devilishly handsome brother, or the brother who uses so much shampoo his purchases can support a whole cosmetics company?”

Castiel looks at Mary, who continues to smile benignly as her sons talk smack at each other. “I suppose I’m neither,” he says at last. “Though Michael is one of those brilliant, terrifyingly efficient brothers who always gets things done.”

“That sort,” Jess says knowingly. She gets distracted again when Sam wraps his arms around her from behind, which somehow leads into another swimming competition for the other end of the pool.

“Your brother likes Wagner,” Dean says. “’Nuff said.”

“Hey,” Mary says.

“I’m just sayin’, Mom.” Dean makes a face. “To _study_? Really?”

“Don’t do that. Then I’ll be required to defend his honor, which would be terrible.” Castiel says that with a laugh, though he’s also surprised that Dean remembers what he’d told him about his complicated relationship with his older brothers.

“My bad,” Dean says, sounding not at all sorry.

“Perhaps I like Wagner as well,” Castiel says. “Now what?”

“That’s okay, I don’t judge.”

“Dean,” Mary says.

“It’s fine, he’s just teasing,” Castiel says. “I’m sure that if he were to share his own musical proclivities, I’d find ample ammunition to return the favor.”

Dean smirks and dips into the pool a little, bending his knees so the water goes up to his chin. “What _do_ you like? For real?”

“Catchy tunes, I think.”

“You think?”

Castiel shrugs. “I don’t know if I have any preference aside from how memorable a tune is. Such as…” He hums a few bars, trying to rattle the lyrics out from his memory.

“Oh hey.” Dean smiles. “Yellow ribbon ‘round the old oak tree.”

Castiel nods. “Yes, that one. I like that one, songs like that.”

“Oh, Cas, you should’ve said.” Mary shifts out her pose, and bounces on the pool floor a few times. “We have a whole bunch of oldie records in the TV room. Dean can set you up, if you want to listen to them in the study. Or in your room.”

“It’s not necessary, I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Not a bother,” Dean says.

“I don’t even know how to play records,” Castiel says. “I don’t want to damage anything.”

“Don’t you borrow old books and things from the library?” Dean asks. “Sounds to me that you do pretty well taking care of other people’s stuff.”

It’s Castiel’s turn to bend his knees and dip in the water, the motion helping cool down the heat in his face. He eventually nods, accepting the offer, to which Dean clicks his tongue and gives a thumbs-up. Castiel understands Mary’s interest in sending some amusing diversions his way, but Dean is… Dean’s a strange one, more friendly than is strictly necessary, which Castiel appreciated before but is starting to find disarming.

“I think I’m done,” Castiel says at last. “I’m going to shower and change.”

“Come back down for the barbecue,” Mary says. “I mean it, Cas. It’s a lovely day, and you should enjoy it.”

Castiel waddles over to the closest rail and climbs out, all the while wondering if there’s a way to word a polite refusal. He turns back to address Mary, but instead of the teasing scowl he’s expecting, her eyes are soft, imploring. Castiel is taken aback and nods.

“You don’t even need to shower, Cas.” Dean grabs the rail with both hands and practically swings himself out of the pool. “We’re all heathens here, just put a towel on your head and chill.”

“Really?” Castiel says.

Dean grabs a towel from the closest deckchair and flips it over his shoulders like a cape. “Done. Now on to cooking. Benny, my man!”

“Fire hazard, chief,” Benny says, from where he’s setting up more coolers around the grill. “I’d recommend putting on a shirt first.”

Castiel looks back at Mary, who’s now climbing out of the pool. “Dean cooks?”

“Voraciously.” Mary reaches out and accepts Castiel’s offered hand, taking the last step up onto the pavement. “I’d like to take some credit for that.”

“Aww, Mom,” Sam calls out. “You’re not supposed to have favorites!”

Mary laughs. “You’re my favorite on even-numbered days, Dean’s my favorite on odd-numbered days save Sunday, which is when _I_ am my favorite.”

Castiel follows the banter with interest, so it’s natural that he his attention moves back and forth between the participants. Thus it is that he catches a split-second when Mary’s facing Castiel and Sam’s face is – odd. Not openly aggressive, the way that Dean was some weeks ago, but somber and thoughtful. It shouldn’t be cause for alarm except for where it disappears the instant Sam realizes Castiel’s looking at him, replaced by an exaggerated smile and eye roll.

How curious.

  


* * *

  


Castiel’s experience with family relationships has left him ill-prepared to understand the Winchesters. He is well-versed in rivalry, trickery and open antagonism, all of which are antithetical to the Winchester dynamics. (Castiel’s relationship with Anna may be much more positive, but it wasn’t always.)

By all accounts, Mary, Dean and Sam care for each other a great deal. A weekend isn’t enough to see all the nuances of their relationships, and Castiel knows that people behave differently when there are outsiders present, but even so – it’s clear enough to see that they get along far better than Castiel’s own family. There are smiles, laughter, ease of conversation, casual hugs, and a general relaxed atmosphere that make Castiel think of Anna, and maybe Balthazar on a good day.

But there are moments in between, brief and fleeting, that seem at odds with this.

There’s the way Mary’s face falls sometimes when Dean and Sam aren’t looking. There’s Sam’s expression back in the pool, which Castiel thinks he glimpses again during their barbecue, always when Mary isn’t looking. It makes Castiel recall the first week or so of Dean’s visits to the house, when tension filled the negative spaces of Dean and Mary’s conversations. Castiel didn’t understand it then, and doesn’t understand it now.

Slightly more illuminating are the hushed almost-arguments that Castiel catches a few words of here and there. The first was when Castiel was changing in the guest room, and there’s another later that night after dinner, when Mary got Castiel to join them in the game room.

They entered the room just as Dean and Sam were having one of those hushed convos, the words frantic and barely audible save for Sam’s petulant, “—why don’t you just _ask_ —” and Dean’s overriding, “—it’s just temporary, dammit, there’s no need to—” which devolved into rapid hissing and childish slapping that Mary put an end to.

Castiel knows that it’s none of his business. He’s curious as hell, but he files all these observations away without bringing them up or drawing attention to them. He wonders if maybe it’s just one of those quirks that don’t really mean anything, but that doesn’t explain Mary. Her sons may be enigmas, but Mary less so.

The weekend wraps up when Sam and Jess take their leave of the house on Sunday evening. Castiel is there with Mary and Dean to see them off, though he doesn’t partake of the hugging and kissing that is necessary for the farewell.

“Gosh, Mary,” Jess says with a laugh, “we’ll be back in a few weeks for your party. Are you sure you don’t want me to come by earlier to help out?”

“Thank you, but I have Dean,” Mary says.

“What?” Dean says. “I heard my name, what?”

Sam pats the top of Dean’s head. “You’re on party prep duty, man.”

“Best prep there is,” Dean declares.

After Sam and Jess are gone, Dean announces that he’s going up to his room to catch up on his emails. Mary watches him go up the stairs, and Castiel’s about to excuse himself as well when he’s stopped by a touch on his arm.

Castiel looks at her, but Mary’s still watching Dean, waiting until he turns on the landing and disappears from view. Then she says, “How about some coffee?”

“Sure,” Castiel says.

The thing that Castiel is grateful for in his relationship with Mary, and is indeed the first thing that struck him when they met, is her directness. It was her bluntness that made Castiel notice her that day in Anna’s apartment, and it’s that bluntness that made Castiel realize that his own tendency to be direct isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s simply that he’d not found the right people to be direct _with_ , for they indeed exist out there in the world.

Now, Mary is being direct again. She’s asking for company because she needs it right now, and there’s no shame in voicing that need aloud. Castiel offers her his arm, which she accepts.

They get some coffee from the kitchen and then, to Castiel’s surprise, Mary leads him out into the garden. Walks in the garden have always been something Mary shares with Joshua and Dean, though Castiel has enjoyed the garden on his own. Mary takes him through the bushes and trees, looking back up at the house as they go, and then settles on one of the benches of the gazebo.

Mary closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

“If there’s anything you need to talk about,” Castiel says, “I’m here.”

“Is it that obvious?” Mary asks wryly.

“Aside from luring me out here?” Castiel asks, which earns him a soft laugh. “Not really. I don’t have a clue what’s happening, except sometimes…”

“Sometimes?”

“Sometimes you seem sad.” This is foreign territory to Castiel, who’s usually relied on others to navigate emotional landmines for him, letting him know when and where he’s welcome. “You’ve been so happy this weekend to see Sam and Jess, yet there are times where… that happiness doesn’t seem to be enough.”

Mary takes a breath. “I’m so ungrateful sometimes. I try not to be, but it’s…”

“You’re human, Mary,” Castiel says. “It’s my understanding that flaws are part of the deal.”

Mary laughs again and bumps her elbow against Castiel’s. “See, this is why I’m so fond of you.”

“I thought it was my copyediting prowess.”

“That, too.”

Mary doesn’t immediately follow that up, and instead drops back into thoughtful silence. Her laugh was genuine but there is still an air of melancholy about her, which is heartily unfair. Castiel carefully puts his coffee aside and raises an arm. After a beat Mary slides under it, letting Castiel hold her around the shoulder.

“John should be here.” The statement starts gently, and then grows angrier at every word: “Sam’s getting married, and John should be here to see it.”

“If you believe in the afterlife—”

“No, Cas, he should actually _be_ here _now_ ,” Mary says sharply. “Did I tell you how he died? Heart attack? It could’ve been helped. He’d had it before, but we didn’t – I didn’t do enough, I didn’t push him enough to take it seriously, and – and…”

Castiel is alarmed when Mary starts crying, though these are furious tears, which she flicks away with frustration.

“Mary,” Castiel says, “surely you’re not blaming yourself for that?”

“You don’t know,” Mary snaps. “You weren’t there; you don’t know how it was. Even I didn’t take it seriously because we were – we weren’t in a good place and – and I guess I thought there was enough time to… My boys hate me for it.”

“That is not true,” Castiel says firmly. “They love you.”

Mary starts to speak again but chokes up, her voice failing her. Frustration overtakes her features, so Castiel holds her tight and breathes slowly, helping her follow the rise and fall of his chest in steadying her own breathing.

“I may not have a very good basis for comparison,” Castiel says gently, his mouth on the top of Mary’s head. “But I see only love in Dean and Sam’s regard for you. If there are hard feelings for whatever reason you believe, that doesn’t cancel out the love that exists there as well. You are a wonderful person and—”

“Am not,” Mary says thickly. “I’m – I’m not. You don’t know.”

“I’m sorry you feel this way.”

Mary swallows. “I deserve it.”

“Ah, there it is,” Castiel says, understanding. “This is how you punish yourself. You hold on to the memory of John so tightly because you believe that that’s your job now. That is how you make amends for mistakes made when he was alive?”

“I should’ve taken better care of him,” Mary says. “That is a fact.”

“Do Dean and Sam share this belief?”

“Of course they do.”

“Do you know for sure? Have you asked?”

“I don’t need to _ask_ , I know them,” Mary says, but Castiel thinks he can hear the sliver of doubt there. It also makes Castiel ruminate on how being easy with banter and jokes doesn’t necessarily make it easy to communicate on the harder things.

“Do you know,” Castiel says, “Dean once told me not to tell you something, because he thought it would worry you. I thought that was funny, because you do the same thing. You don’t tell your sons things because you fear it would worry them, like the delay with your thesis, or me coming to live in your house.” Or how lonely Mary is, with her sons no longer visiting as often as they used to.

“Oh my God, Cas.” Mary snorts through a laugh. “Are we already at the psychoanalysis part?”

“It’s just an observation, I have those sometimes.” Castiel squeezes Mary’s shoulder. “I think it’s nice to be considerate of your loved ones that way, but I think keeping such strong feelings inside so tightly can lead to dangerous things.”

“Like emotional implosions and self-sabotage?”

Castiel laughs. “Yes, that.”

A few things are clearer now to Castiel, though other things remain oblique. It’s a shame that Anna isn’t here, because she’d probably know what to say to make Mary feel better.

“Me and John were like…” Mary raises a hand, showing a narrow gap between her thumb and forefinger tip, “this close to getting a divorce at some points. I love him – loved him – but sometimes that wasn’t enough. And our boys, they… you know when there’s friction between a couple, kids tend to pick sides?”

“I didn’t know that, but it makes sense.”

“Me and John had our problems but we didn’t want it to affect our boys. But they’re smart, they notice things, and Dean decided he had to be my protector. Sam didn’t exactly take John’s side but… he was so unhappy about it all. But then when John got sick, all of us pretended that that rift, that awkwardness never existed at all. At the very least they must think me a hypocrite for how I acted around John those last few months.”

“You didn’t actually talk about it?”

“Hah,” Mary says. “Another thing me and John had in common. If there’s a problem, pretend it isn’t there and it’ll go away.”

“I suppose all families need a motto.”

Mary laughs. “That would definitely be ours.”

“But they don’t hate you, Mary. It’s nonsensical, judging from this weekend alone. And look at Dean – he’s been coming so often lately because he’s concerned for you.”

“Only because you’re here,” Mary says. “He thinks you’re a threat of some kind, which I suppose you are, if I can talk about this to you.”

“That still doesn’t negate the depth of Dean’s caring for you. And Sam – I barely know him but his joy at seeing you? That is honest. I’m not saying that it’s impossible for there to be other complicated feelings underneath that, and I’m definitely not saying that you can’t feel sad, but perhaps you should focus on how Dean and Sam choose to interact with you _now_.”

“I don’t see them that often anymore,” Mary says quietly. “I told them it’s fine.”

“And not to worry about you?”

“Oh come on,” Mary says irritably, “I don’t need my own kids to babysit me. If I feel a little – if it’s quiet around here that’s – it’s _my_ problem, isn’t it?”

Castiel doesn’t comment. Even if he wants to argue that point, he can’t, because Mary knows his history well enough.

“I’m such a silly old goose,” Mary says. “Sam’s getting married and here I am feeling sorry for myself, what the hell.” She untangles herself from Castiel’s arm and stands up.

“Thank you for sharing this with me, Mary,” Castiel says, rising off the bench with her. “I hope it helps.”

“It does. Thank you.”

“I wish I could do more.”

Mary shakes her head. “This is good enough. It’s nice to have someone who’ll listen.” Castiel just manages to resist suggesting that Dean and Sam might be willing to listen as well.

They return to the house, discussing little more than small talk. Among the topics is Mary’s upcoming birthday party, which she honestly doesn’t seem all that excited about, and is only really humoring her cousins after she’d avoided having one last year since it was the first since John’s passing. Castiel tells her that she shouldn’t have one if she really doesn’t want to, but Mary responds that seeing Sam and Jess again so soon would make it worthwhile.

“I can help, if you need me for anything,” Castiel says.

“Like what?” Mary leads the way back into the kitchen, where she puts their used cups in the sink. “Putting gift bags together?”

“You do gift bags?” Castiel says in surprise.

“Oooh!” Mary exclaims. “You can help me pick out stuff for the gift bags this year.”

Dean’s voice – almost alarmingly loud – makes Mary jump in surprise. “What?” he says, appearing around the corner. “I thought I was on party prep duty.”

“Oh, yes,” Mary says, turning away from Dean to fiddle with the sink and wash her hands. Castiel belatedly realizes the movement is meant to hide her red eyes and damp cheeks. “You’re right, what am I thinking. I should go sleep on it.” Mary doesn’t scurry, but her steps are faster than usual as she makes her exit in the other direction.

Dean watches her go with a frown, and after she’s gone from view said frown moves over to settle on Castiel’s face. There is curiosity in that gaze, but also a flicker of something – fear? – that makes Castiel’s chest tighten. Dean opens to his mouth to speak but hesitates, swallowing.

Castiel has no right to share what was said out in the gardens, but that doesn’t mean he can’t say anything _at all._ “I know it’s back to work tomorrow, but could you maybe do something with Mary this week? Something she likes?”

Dean starts a little, clearly not expecting that. “Why?”

“I think she’d appreciate it,” Castiel says.

Dean lets out a long, slow exhale. He puts his hands on the edge of the kitchen island and leans against it, head tipped forward. When he speaks next, he sounds exhausted: “Anything else you wanna share, Cas?”

Again Castiel’s hands tingle with the urge to touch. Anna is far more knowledgeable on the nuances of physical touch for comfort; in comparison, Castiel is standing frozen like a moron, unable to decide whether it would be suitable to touch Dean’s shoulder, his arm, his shoulder blade? Or maybe any kind of touch would be inappropriate, seeing as they’re not really friends, and Dean’s body language might be construed as closed off.

“It’s not for me to say,” Castiel says apologetically.

Dean raises his head, pinning Castiel with a look. “Isn’t it?”

It’s not a threat. Dean’s imploring, and his eyes are soft and open, though he’s clearly bracing himself for something he might not like. Castiel could almost laugh for how ridiculous the situation is. Or perhaps it only seems ridiculous from the outside, and if Castiel were part of this family he’d be just as trapped by its unspoken rules.

“Are you happy, Cas?” Dean asks.

That’s an odd question. Castiel rolls it over in his head, weighing the different kinds of happiness that are present in the day-to-day, and wondering if it’s worthwhile to measure the events of the past year against everything else that’s happened before that. He’s had many pleasurable moments in recent times, but does regret and shame cancel that out?

Dean huffs, a smile tugging his lips. “It’s not that a hard question is it?”

“I think it depends on what you mean by happy.”

“Here,” Dean says. “Are you happy being here?”

“Oh, yes,” Castiel says, nodding. “Of course, I’m very grateful.” When Dean turns away, Castiel knows that that was the wrong answer or, at least, not the answer that Dean was hoping for. Castiel’s mind races, trying to figure out some way to salvage the moment, but all he can manage is, “I’m definitely not _unhappy_ , which I think is the most important thing.”

Dean turns back, one eyebrow raised. “Half empty vs. half full?”

“Not even that,” Castiel insists. “I’m grateful for a lot of things. Even you.”

“Me?”

“Of course,” Castiel says. “You’ve been very kind to me. Thank you.”

Dean crosses his arms again, though that familiar pink flush works up the back of his neck again. Castiel realizes that when he does that, it rather makes his freckles more prominent. “Didn’t do it for thanks,” Dean mumbles.

“I know.”

“Okay, so.” Dean clears his throat. “If you _were_ unhappy, like in a major way, you would do something about it, right? You wouldn’t just take it?”

“That’s another loaded question, isn’t it?”

Dean snorts and lifts his shoulders in a careless shrug.

“Dean.” Castiel tentatively approaches, and notes how Dean’s eyes widen a little in surprise, but he otherwise does not move away. “What’s this about?”

“Nothing,” Dean says, so quickly that Castiel has no doubt whatsoever that he is Mary’s son. “Whatever, I’m gonna—”

“Are you concerned for me?” Castiel asks, thinking back to all the general probing he’d chalked up to Dean’s simply trying to be a decent host. “About my being here, if I’m being treated all right?”

Dean turns away a little, jaw clenching. “’Course not, it’s none of my business.” Castiel’s about to refute that but Dean surprises him by saying, “Look, I don’t care what else you get up to, but you shouldn’t be here because you feel _obligated_. And you – you shouldn’t be ashamed of…”

“Of?”

Dean shakes his head. “You’re a good guy, Cas, okay?”

Castiel laughs softly. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Dean snaps. “You _are_ , more than I… The point is that you are, and you should remember that.” He says it so firmly, so _righteously_ , that Castiel wants to believe it simply because Dean tells him so.

“All right.” Castiel is close enough that he can place his hand on Dean’s forearm, which he does. He’s never initiated touch before with Dean but this feels right, as is the way Dean’s eyes flutter a little when Castiel squeezes gently. “It’s very decent of you to say that. I appreciate it.”

“Okay.” Dean swallows. “So, um. You think I should do something with Mom, something she likes? I got a few ideas.”

“That’s good.”

Dean’s smile seems genuine enough, but the air of discontentment about him remains. Castiel can’t shake the feeling that he’s still missing something else – something aside from Dean’s obvious yearning to know what’s going on with his mother – but unless Castiel spontaneously develops telepathy, he has to be content with accepting what Dean’s chosen to tell him.

“I’ll see you, then?” Castiel says. Dean nods and wanders off, leaving Castiel mildly frustrated but unable to do anything about it.


	9. he’s got eyes of the bluest sky as if they thought of rain

If Anna were here she would know what to do. Or maybe she wouldn’t, and Castiel’s merely using that as an excuse to hang back and do nothing.

But what _can_ Castiel do? He knows how rude it is to interfere in other people’s family matters in itself, let alone when one doesn’t even have all the relevant information. It seems that Castiel’s destiny is to observe, and to be present when needed, but that doesn’t feel like enough.

Castiel observes how Dean takes Mary out to watch a show in town on Tuesday, which by all accounts both of them thoroughly enjoyed. He’s there when Mary and Dean discuss the birthday party during dinner, going through the invitation list and debating the menu, and only tripping when either of them accidentally bring up John, who apparently had a lot of opinions about house parties.

Considering that Mary herself said that the Winchesters have a tendency to avoid troublesome topics, Castiel half-believes that Mary might decide to pretend that she’d never told him the things she did in the garden. He wouldn’t mind if she did, because it can take a lot out of a person to be vulnerable in front of someone else, and it’s enough that he’d been there for her at that moment.

But Mary doesn’t take that route. In fact, a few days after that Sunday, Mary brings up the topic again over their usual private breakfast, saying, “If you’d moved out here a little earlier, you could’ve met John.”

“I thought you said that would be a disaster,” Castiel says. “And don’t forget that I was much more ornery then.”

Mary laughs. “It got me thinking a little. I wonder if maybe the reason I could talk to you about those things is because you _didn’t_ know John. All my friends now – even Anna – knew me when I was part of a unit: Mary and John. John and Mary. You know me as just Mary.”

“Do you prefer to be seen as ‘just’ Mary now?”

Mary is startled by the question, and thinks it over. “I don’t know,” she admits. “I don’t even know if it’s _right_ to want such a thing, I couldn’t just… Goodness, you like dropping some hard truths on people first thing in the morning, don’t you?”

“Best to get your money’s worth,” Castiel says, which has Mary chuckling ruefully.

Mary’s confession has opened a line of conversation between them, as though passing that initial hurdle was the hardest part, and now that it’s done Castiel has passed a threshold into the realm of a confidant. Since Anna and Mary did a similar service for Castiel during his own period of figuring things out, he’s honored to get to return the favor, and is always ready to talk out the matter whenever Mary wishes.

Mary may have this outlet, but what of Dean? It’s true that Dean has many friends – he goes out to visit them when he can, and Castiel’s heard him laughing on the phone many times – but are they fulfilling his emotional needs, and helping steer him towards effective communication with Mary?

_Ah but_ , says a voice in Castiel’s head, _would Dean’s friends know that this is an issue in the Winchester household?_ None of said friends are at the house to see these occasionally awkward moments between mother and son, and how likely is it that such behavior would be noticeable when they’re with others outside of the house?

The reasonable thing for Castiel to do is to make himself available to Dean, just as he’s making himself available to Mary. It’s true that Castiel’s relationship with Dean has nothing on his relationship with Mary, but they’ve been getting along quite well since the ice-cream outing. Dean still has his moments of fumbling awkwardness, but it’s at a lower, manageable level now.

Dean responds whenever Castiel strikes up casual conversation around the house, is perfectly amiable about installing the record player in the study as offered (and is terribly patient in the face of Castiel’s two dozen questions about the proper handling of records); he even makes one of his supposedly epic sandwiches for Castiel to try. Hence there are many opportunities to discuss family or family-adjacent matters, but every time Castiel even tries to steer the topic in that direction Dean deflects it with impeccable skill.

Castiel hasn’t given up, though. So when Dean announces over dinner one night that his apartment is almost done, he jumps at the opportunity.

“Can I come see?” Castiel asks.

“It’s not done _yet_ ,” Dean says. “I gotta put everything back in place.”

“More reason to have me there,” Castiel says. “Two pairs of hands are better than one.”

Mary nods. “That is a good idea. I know you like to handle these kinds of matters yourself, but you really should get help once in a while.”

“I did get help for the flooring,” Dean points out. “I could’ve done that myself.”

“You can do that yourself?” Castiel says in amazement.

“Takes after his father like that,” Mary says, while Dean goes into his typical bashful hemming and hawing. “Always loved helping out around the house.”

“I’d love to help around your house,” Castiel says, “getting things back in order.”

“I don’t like people going through my stuff,” Dean mumbles.

“I’m good at obeying instructions,” Castiel says. “And boundaries, when they’re clearly delineated.”

While Dean makes a squinty face at Castiel, Mary pats her son on the shoulder. “Take him with you,” she says, “and then let me know when you’re ready so I can come visit.”

“It’s just new flooring, mom.”

“Let me visit anyway,” Mary says. “So when do you want to take Cas to your place?”

“I don’t know,” Dean says. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Castiel asks. “I like helping.”

Dean grumbles a little more but acquiesces, and that is how a few days later Castiel finds himself taking the long commute to Dean’s apartment, though this time as a passenger in Dean’s car.

The first time that Castiel took this route, his attention was focused on the road and the GPS, but this time he can enjoy the sights he missed, and occasionally uses his phone to take pictures of anything that catches his eye.

Dean seems to find this amusing. “Are you really that hard up for entertainment that you wanna do this?”

“I won’t be seeing you as much since you’re moving back,” Castiel points out. “I thought this would be nice.”

“Aww, gonna miss me?”

“Of course.” Castiel watches the scenery roll by, noting the eventual change from low buildings into taller ones as they head further downtown. The journey feels much shorter this time around, and he’s surprised when he sees the top of Dean’s apartment building ahead. “Where do you work? Can I see?”

“We can’t really see it from here, but I’ll show you.”

Dean’s apartment is in vastly different condition from the last time Castiel was there. As soon as Dean opens the door, the first thought to pop into Castiel’s head is that someone shoved one of those ice-cream spoons in here, scooping out everything colorful and interesting to leave behind a bland empty space – although the new, dark floor is striking. Aside from the kitchen area, he doesn’t recognize anything else, and only belatedly registers the furniture pushed in an ungainly barricade near the kitchen side.

“I did some vacuuming yesterday,” Dean says as he closes the door behind them, “but it still needs dusting. We should start with the shelves, I think.”

“The new floor is nice,” Castiel says. “Shall I take off my shoes?”

“No, it’s fine. We gotta break it in anyway. Come on.”

Under Dean’s direction, they move the main set-pieces around the room – the book shelves, coffee table, computer table, sofa and chairs, and other smaller items that Castiel hadn’t noticed the last time. Most of the items go back to their original locations, but others Dean decides to move into new places, such as the display cabinets which he sets closer to the TV instead of his computer station, and the shelves, which he moves from one wall to another.

“Good excuse to do some spring cleaning,” Dean says. “Plus I got to get right into those hard-to-reach corners for cleaning, those bug the hell out of me.”

“Such a good homemaker,” Castiel says. “I never took care of my place like that. It was only ever a place to sleep and eat, and that was it.”

“Watch your feet.” Dean nods when they have the entertainment table just right against the wall, and they put it down together. “Do you miss your place? An apartment, right?”

“Yes, it was an apartment, and no, I don’t miss it.”

“What did you do, um… with your stuff?”

“I got rid of most of it,” Castiel says. “What I really wanted, I brought with me to Anna’s, so it’s still there. Some of the bigger things are in storage, until I figure out what I want to do.”

“Are you?” Dean wipes the back of his head against his forehead. “Figuring out what you want to do?”

“That is an excellent question, and I will get back to you when I have an answer.”

Dean nods, as though this is perfectly reasonable response. “I’m sure you’ll get there.”

“It would be nice to have that kind of conviction.”

“Yeah I’m sorry, it’s not…” Dean sighs. “Maybe you will, maybe you won’t, it’s not like I _know_. And if you don’t, there’s nothing wrong with that? Lots of people go their whole lives not knowing what it’s for, ‘cause hey, the system’s kinda janky, ain’t it? No manual, no real answers. We gotta keep trying anyway.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” Castiel says. “The universe doesn’t owe us answers, no matter how much we seek it.”

“Yeah, that. It sucks but we make do. We try to be good.”

“And it’s not a competition?”

Dean laughs. “Definitely not a competition. You got a decent head on your shoulders, Cas.”

Castiel smiles weakly, at a loss how to respond. His first inclination is to point out how Dean is so much more put together compared to him, going around running businesses and making time for his family and filling his home with things that make him happy. But that would be simplifying things, and Castiel has no way of truly knowing how Dean became the man he is today. Mary’s stories, entertaining as they are, paint only one part of the picture.

“So, um,” Castiel says, clearing his throat, “where are your other things?”

“Ah, that’s stage two.”

The books, figurines and other smaller items that he couldn’t leave outside have been moved into his bedroom (which to Castiel’s non-surprise is just as covered with trinkets and paraphernalia on all its surfaces and walls, and even the bed, which has _Star Wars_ sheets). In this part of the proceedings the most Castiel can do is carry the items out into the living room and put them on the coffee table, where Dean then moves them to their correct place. There are loads of books covering all sorts of topics, and Castiel has to resist reading the covers as he ferries them out of the room. The figurines, too, require a great deal of care, and Castiel only carries one or two in every trip, making sure not to harm them.

It may not be the most efficient way to get things done, but it’s enjoyable. Castiel gets to admire the things Dean’s adorned his home with and appreciate the knowing precision with which Dean sets everything back into its rightful place. At long last the room is almost as Castiel remembered it, and Dean stands back to check the layout and nods with satisfaction.

“Oh yeah,” Dean says, “I was gonna show you where the car place is, right? C’mon.”

To Castiel’s surprise, Dean means to show him from one of the windows. Castiel joins him at the window closest to the computer station, where Dean pushes the thin curtains aside to point at a low building nearby.

“You see the one with the red sign up top?” Dean says. “That’s where I work. Most of the time, anyway.”

“That’s so nearby.” Castiel leans forward, fingers braced on the frame and nose almost touching the glass. “You don’t even need to drive.”

“Nope! I got a regular walking route, down there, past that avenue, you see that coffee shop at the corner? That’s for a breakfast stop if I’m needing it, then ‘round the side and I’m ready to hit the gears.”

“You could come back for an afternoon nap if you wanted to.”

Dean laughs. “Hadn’t crossed my mind, but sure.”

“You said regular route,” Castiel says. “Do you have non-regular routes?”

“Sure. When it’s cold I like to walk a little more. You see that square building, with the blue roof? Behind that’s actually this really small park, it’s not even a park it’s more like just a patch of green with some benches. I like to walk around that, take my time. Sometimes when I’m feeling really itchy I go even further, but I try not to do that ‘cause then I get cranky by the time I get to the workshop.”

The image forms in Castiel’s mind easily: Dean walking down that street in his leather jacket and jeans, and perhaps carrying a messenger bag and holding a cup of coffee. Castiel hasn’t seen Dean when he’s focused on work, but Dean seems to be the sort of person who’d enjoy his surroundings when walking to work. Dean would walk with his head up, smiling when he sees people, and sighing when he feels the morning breeze. Oh, and he’d hum a tune under his breath, definitely.

Castiel turns to ask Dean if he listens to music during his walk, and is startled to find that Dean’s much closer than he thought – though Castiel felt Dean’s arm brush against his he hadn’t really registered it – and Dean isn’t even looking out the window.

There’s half-second just before Dean reacts by jolting in surprise, his eyes widening as they jump up to meet Castiel’s. In that half-second Castiel managed to catch Dean studying him unawares, and Dean’s face, Dean’s _eyes_. No one’s ever looked at Castiel like that. Soft and fond, and amused, and indulgent, and – and something else that has Castiel’s toes curling in his shoes.

Some of that gentleness remains in Dean’s face now that he’s been found out, but it’s almost drowned out by sheepishness and guilt. _Guilt?_ That’s strange – as far as Castiel knows Dean’s committed no error here, so maybe it’s Castiel who’s reading it wrong. It’s very totally possible that Castiel’s reading all of this wrong, because his body is buzzing like he’s in one of Mary’s massage chairs, and he’s acutely aware that if he were to lean over just a little, he’d bump right against Dean’s chest and finally find out if it’s as solid as it looks.

“Hello,” Castiel says quietly. He doesn’t know why, but it feels appropriate to whisper.

“Hey,” Dean replies, just as quietly.

“Do I have something on my face?” Castiel whispers. “I know I haven’t shaved in a while.”

“Looks good.” Dean nods minutely. “You look good.”

This close Castiel can see the bristles around Dean’s mouth, which seem more fine than Castiel’s and would probably feel different under Castiel’s fingertips. More interesting are the freckles dotted along the bridge of Dean’s nose – logic dictates that there would negligible difference in texture between freckle area and non-freckle area, but the only way to know for sure would be touch. That would be inappropriate, though. Personal boundaries are tricky things, and although Dean has no problem standing so close they’re almost breathing the same air, that doesn’t mean Castiel has permission to touch him.

Castiel would _like_ permission to touch him, though heaven knows how one asks for that. He would give Dean permission to touch him in return if Dean wanted, just to level the playing field. Of course, it’s ludicrous that Dean would want to touch him because that’s not what barely-friends do. Dean may share the occasional back-pat, shoulder-squeeze, arm-slap, but he’s only touchy-feely with his brother, so he would definitely find Castiel’s theoretical offer weird. Most definitely absolutely.

It’s such a pity there’s no polite way to admit out loud that Castiel would like to run a finger along Dean’s throat, just to feel the way it vibrates when he speaks.

Instead Castiel says, “I’m a little hungry. Do you happen to have anything?”

Dean blinks and draws back, snapping the moment like a cord when he glances down at his watch. “I can call pizza,” he says, sounding distant. “You okay with that?”

“Yes, I like pizza,” Castiel says. “And buffalo wings, if they have any?”

Dean nods and smiles, though the handful of feet now between them feels like miles and miles. “I know just the place.”

They order in, and while waiting for the food to arrive Dean finishes getting all his electronics connected again. Castiel is less helpful for this part, and mostly stands around holding power cords while Dean does the real work. First they set up the computer, and then move to the home entertainment system, which seems far more complicated than the one in the Winchester home.

“Do you not have a projector here?” Castiel asks.

“Not much point if the place isn’t sound-proofed,” Dean says. “Though sometimes I think my neighbors would prefer if it was.”

Castiel thinks. “You put on your music really loudly?”

“Hell no, that’s what headphones are for. It’s when I have friends over that we can get a little, uh… intense.”

“Ah,” Castiel says knowingly. “Parties.”

“Not the kind you’d think,” Dean says with a grin. He clips the last set of cords together and stands up. “Gaming parties, mostly. If it’s a really big group I take ‘em down to the common area – there’s a party section downstairs by the pool. But even if there’s like, three or four people in here and it’s a tough game? It can sound like bloody murder.”

“How frightening,” Castiel says. “Can we play one?”

Dean looks at him in surprise. “You want to play a game?”

“If it’s not too difficult to explain how it works. Yes, I think I would like to.”

Dean snaps his fingers. “I know a great starter. Two players, a classic. You know Stratego?”

“I don’t think so?”

Although Castiel cleared the rest of the day to help Dean out, he didn’t think he’d be spending the afternoon sitting around Dean’s coffee table, eating pizza and staring daggers at little colored pieces while Dean talks smack at him. One game turned into two (where Castiel finally got a good rhythm and won with a guileless expression that had Dean yelling in outrage), to three, to Dean declaring that he was wrong to start Castiel with this one and he has another that’s totally much better.

They ordered a large pizza and wings, but Castiel barely remembers eating it, what with his being so focused picking up the nuances of the two games that Dean’s introduced him to. Castiel has to pay particular attention to detail for the second one, ‘Hive’, which features insect tiles and a rather more elaborate set of instructions that takes Castiel a few tries to get a hang of. But get a hang of it he does, and then Castiel’s throwing caution to the wind, uncaring of Dean’s protests as he takes him down with brutal efficiency.

Dean makes it a challenge, though, once he realizes that he doesn’t need to take it easy on Castiel. Castiel enjoys card games and the way his brain kind of rewires itself to think in patterns for strategic thinking, and this is that but in _brand new patterns_ , which is all sorts of exciting.

“I had no idea there were table games like this,” Castiel says, when Dean finally calls for a time-out. “I knew about card games, and things like Monopoly and Scrabble but… To be fair, there’s a lot I know very little about.”

“Eh it really depends on the circles you go in,” Dean says. “I happened to catch on in college with Charlie, and she showed me a whole new world.”

“That would explain it. I did limit myself a great deal during college. Even before that, actually.”

“You haven’t kept in touch with any friends from that time?”

“There’s one or two, sort of…” Castiel shrugs. “How about you?”

“School, not so much,” Dean says with a grimace. “College, yeah, definitely.”

“Why the difference? Is it not the same kind of socialization?”

“Um.” Dean scratches the back of his neck self-consciously. “I was a dick in school. And for most of my freshman year.”

“I apologize for bringing this up.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I went to a prep school, and it can fuck with your head if you’re not careful. I mean, I totally appreciate the experience, but it kind of… I kept getting mixed up with the wrong crowd which isn’t my parents’ fault or the school’s fault – that’s all on me – it’s only when I got to college that I figured out that that was what was happening. I was salvageable enough that Charlie didn’t kick me out on my ass when we first met, and um… I guess it was an awakening, from that point.”

“That makes sense,” Castiel says. “Peer pressure and the awareness of societal expectations can be very persuasive.”

Dean swallows. “I’m not making excuses—”

“You’re not. I understand. It’s cleansing to leave all that behind and move on.”

“Huh,” Dean says thoughtfully. “So… is that what you did? When you quit your job?”

“Oh. Yes, I believe so, though I didn’t do it out of a desire to find something else. Only that I wasn’t content where I was. But you managed to figure yourself out, it seems?”

“It’s different. I wasn’t in trouble or anything like that. And I had every advantage from my parents, I _know_ that, I’m not—”

“Dean,” Castiel says firmly. “You can stop hedging yourself. I know how you live, and I know the advantages you’ve had. That doesn’t mean that you can _never_ be discontent. Are you conscious of telling me this because of my situation, because you don’t want me to feel bad? I won’t, I’m not.”

Dean clenches his jaw. “It’s stupid.”

“Fine, let me have a try.” He looks around the apartment, taking in the figurines, the books, the guitars with a fresh set of eyes. He remembers how surprised he was the first time he came here, and how he’d expected something larger and more like the Winchester mansion, with its clean lines, fancy furniture and sophisticated artwork. This is a comfortable apartment but it’s much more modest, and Castiel believes wholly unsuitable for the kinds of networking dinner parties that should be typical for the social circles in which the Winchesters and Campbells move.

“Do you perhaps feel you need to live up to expectations of your upbringing?” Castiel asks. “You’ve expressed yourself here, and if you only tapped into these interests once college and your friend Charlie gave you more options, then there must be a part of you that thinks that this isn’t how you’re supposed to live. You’re a part of the Campbell family tree, that must affect you.”

“No,” Dean says, a bit too quickly, “I am happy. This is exactly where I want to be.”

“I think that that’s true,” Castiel says slowly, “but it might not quiet the doubt that what you _want_ to do isn’t necessarily what you _should_ be doing. You seem to have control over your life, and you use it to manage small businesses that give you pleasure. But that’s not at all comparable to the scope of achievements your parents accomplished, let alone your grandparents. Or even your brother, really. Jess told me that they’re thinking of going into politics some time down the road.”

“That’s cause Sam and Jess would do good by it,” Dean says. “That’s… they’re made for that.”

Castiel nods. “And you’re made for this. You use your time and energy to help people you care about – your family, your friends. Then you share the joy you’ve found in life with people around you, so they may partake in what you have. I need to remember this, it’s good to keep a perspective on the ways we affect the people around us. Thank you.”

“Dude,” Dean says, choked. “I—I’m not a role model.”

“You don’t get a say. I’m sorry.” Castiel smiles. “I’m grateful to know you, Dean. And I don’t think you should be ashamed of enjoying the things you do, whether or not you think they’re appropriate for someone of your upbringing.”

“C’mon, man,” Dean says, laughing weakly. “This is so… you’re supposed to pay it _forward_ , make something of yourself.”

“Which you are.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Dean,” Castiel says impatiently, “I have known people in positions similar to yours. I’ve seen them, worked with them. And I can tell you that the world would be a much better place if even one quarter – one eighth! – of them even bothered to think beyond the end of their own comfort. I’m not saying that you’re flawless, but you shouldn’t make little of what you _have_ accomplished. Maybe you didn’t tap fully into the opportunities you’ve been given, but that doesn’t make you a waste of space, no more than I am a waste of space for stepping away from what I once had.”

Dean doesn’t hear this often; or if he does, he doesn’t let himself listen. Castiel thinks he understands Dean’s discomfort – there’s a push-pull between feeling sorry for himself and being conscious of how unfair it is to others less fortunate if he feels sorry for himself. There’s nothing Castiel can say to ease that, because it’s something that Dean has to square for himself, though all Castiel needs to know is that Dean hasn’t used his advantages to hurt other people, which is more than Castiel can say for himself.

A thought occurs, as Castiel recalls some of their previous conversations, and what he thought at the time was just Dean’s teasing about Castiel’s expectations of Dean’s tastes and habits.

“Have people made fun of you, for being the way you are?” Castiel asks. “Liking the things you do?”

“Some people are assholes, news at eleven. It goes with the territory.”

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt,” Castiel points out. “I’m sorry I implied it was funny that you were—”

“You didn’t mean it like _that_ ,” Dean says, rolling his eyes. “I can tell the difference between you making fun of my being attached to my dang car, and someone _like me_ talking shit about my baby as if she’s beneath me.”

“So people have been mean.”

Dean shrugs. “So I’m a disappointment to people who know my parents, my grandparents, so what? I tried it, okay. I tried being a Campbell, whatever the fuck that means, and it didn’t take. I _like_ who I am, Cas.”

“I believe you,” Castiel says. “But it’s complicated, isn’t it? On one hand, you reject the expectations placed upon you, but on the other, a part of you still thinks you should comply with those expectations, otherwise what is the point of you?”

Dean seems ready to argue, but then deflates with a sigh. “Yeah. Sounds about right.”

“Did… did John and Mary ever pressure you—”

“Okay, let’s not go there,” Dean says sharply. “Thanks for the chat, but that’s all for today.”

“All right.”

Dean groans. “Don’t – don’t make that face at me.”

Castiel averts his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Cas!”

Castiel lifts one of the tiles. “How about another round?”

Dean huffs and puffs, but at last grits out, “Yes, and I’m gonna destroy you.”

“I’ll enjoy watching you try.”

The gauntlet is thrown, and Dean cracks his knuckles. Castiel expends his energy on the next game, relieved that Dean accepted his peace offering, and doesn’t seem to be holding a grudge over Castiel’s pushing into personal territory. At least no one can say that Castiel didn’t try to get a dialogue going regarding the living Winchesters’ communication issues.

They play a few more rounds, Dean’s spirits lifting considerably even when he loses two out of the three rounds. Castiel wishes there were a way to bottle up Dean’s laughter, or at least memorize precisely the way it seems to buzz over Castiel’s skin like a summer warm breeze.

“We gotta get back to the house,” Dean says. “Geez, I didn’t realize it was so late. Uh, anyway, I’ll still be moving between here and there until the party at least, so do you wanna pick out a few other games to try out?”

“I’d enjoy that,” Castiel says. “They’re very diverting. How many more do you have?”

“Let’s just say my collection has been described as pathetically huge, and I may or may not have converted that store room behind you just for all my crap.”

Dean gets up to show Castiel exact that: the small room next to the balcony has been set up with tall shelves from floor to ceiling, most of which are filled with boxes of various colors, sizes and designs. The room’s only really large enough for two people, so Castiel hangs back while Dean picks through the lot, picking up and returning boxes as he tries to decide.

“This is pathetically huge?” Castiel says. “Surely this kind of collection increases your social standing.”

“Depends on what kind of social you’re talking about, right? Can’t say I’ve had too many dates over Catan.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, man,” Dean says, distracted as he reads the back of various boxes. “People who wanna date me aren’t really interested, and for some freaking reason people who _are_ , I just get along better with as friends.”

“Even Donnie?”

Dean looks up, startled. “I, uh, never brought Donnie here. That was – we weren’t really dating, it was more like a thing that happened when it kinda shouldn’t have.”

“Oh,” Castiel says. “Bela, then?”

Dean snorts. “Bela’s the _reason_ I moved out of my last place. She’d have a stroke if she saw me now, ask me why I’m living in a closet.”

Castiel looks around the apartment in alarm. “This would be a pretty big closet.”

“Tch-yeah,” Dean says. “Okay, so I’m gonna go with a few mystery games, I think you’ll be into that. Plus Catan, since you reminded me, but we need a bigger group for that, so let’s cross our fingers Sam and Jess will be up for joining us for a round when they come over. That good?”

“Yes, that sounds good,” Castiel says.

They head back to the Winchester home with a small pile of board games in the Impala’s backseat. Dean’s so enthused by this turn of events that he spends a significant chunk of the drive sharing the details and context of each game, which in turn expands Castiel’s knowledge of Dean’s young adult years.

More importantly, Dean’s eagerness in itself tells Castiel a great deal. He is animated and passionate and perfectly glad to talk Castiel’s ear off; Castiel remembers being in such a state as this, but only a handful of times in his life. In those past moments of excitement, Castiel remembers his zeal coming from a place of longing and relief at finding a warm and willing ear (Anna, most recently, of course).

So as Castiel nods along and absorbs Dean’s chattering, it occurs to him for the first time to wonder if Dean’s self-assured confidence masks others things he has in common with his mother – that same resigned loneliness, that same longing for connection.

  


* * *

  


That night, Castiel updates Anna on the latest goings-on: preparations for Mary’s party and the afternoon session at Dean’s apartment among others. Anna has her own updates and shares the fruits of networking, which are opening prospects for other projects that might keep her where she is, though she’s trying to parley that into projects she can do from home.

“ _It’s great to visit_ ,” Anna says over the phone, “ _but I don’t know if I want to stay here for the foreseeable future. Not the least because it increases my chances of bumping into Luke._ ”

“You haven’t yet though,” Castiel says.

“ _I doubt he’s dabbling in the arts community, but you never know. Never mind about that, you were talking about Dean’s apartment. Do you think he’d like to commission something from me?_ ”

“If you’re fishing for any reason to come home—”

“ _I’m just curious!_ ” Anna says with a laugh. “ _I only met him the one time, and I can’t say I remember much beyond his being a fine,_ fine _specimen. Tell me he’s still a fine specimen_.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, and adjusts the phone where it’s settled between his shoulder and the pillow underneath his head. “Their entire family is good-looking; I believe you’re aware. I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“ _Well, seeing as how you can’t seem to stop talking about him lately, I thought it might be a reasonable matter to bring up._ ”

“He’s been living here, and I can count the number of people I regularly interact with on one hand. Who else would I talk about, if not him and Mary?”

“ _There’s no need to be defensive._ ”

“I’m not being defensive; I’m just pointing out a fact of reality.” Castiel glances over at the windows, which are closed. The house is relatively quiet tonight, as Dean’s taken Mary out for a social visit to the Harvelles, but Castiel can’t help feeling self-conscious. He rolls over in the bed and flicks at the digital clock, switching on the radio so to fill the room with background noise. “And Dean’s such a nice person, I don’t think it’s funny to focus on his looks.”

“ _Fair enough, I’m sorry. Dean does sound very nice_.”

“And funny, and kind,” Castiel says. “He’s very thoughtful – about Mary, his brother, the other staff. He’s very conscious of other people, even those on the periphery – _especially_ those on the periphery. I know I shouldn’t, but I wonder if perhaps that comes from experience. He doesn’t think he’s worthy of being a Campbell-Winchester, which is the saddest thing, so I can’t help thinking maybe he’d felt left out a lot when he was younger – maybe in school, or maybe even in family situations. But that isn’t fair to Mary, I don’t think she’d ever allow that.”

“ _I don’t think so either._ ”

“Dean would be so angry if I were even to suggest that. He’s so protective of Mary, it’s very sweet. I wish they could just talk to each other. Sometimes I wonder if this is how it felt for other people who witnessed our family’s nonsense from the outside.”

“ _It might be!_ ”

“You would like him, Anna. I’m sure he’d like you, too. He’s so easy to talk to, I imagine that the two of you would get along so well; it’s a pity you didn’t get to while you were here with Mary.”

“ _It sounds like_ you _two get along just fine._ ”

“It’s all right,” Castiel says. “But I don’t think I keep up with him very well sometimes, he has to explain things that I believe are quite basic, which is embarrassing. Though of course he never makes a big deal about it, because he’s patient that way. Well, not _always_ , he can be impatient at times, but he doesn’t ever make me feel stupid for not knowing things. He’s wonderful with children as well, though admittedly I only saw him that one time, but I believe he’ll be a wonderful uncle if Sam and Jess have children.”

“ _You’ve certainly been thinking about it_.”

“I just want him to be happy,” Castiel says. “Him and Mary, of course. And Sam and Jess, too, naturally.”

“ _Naturally_.”

“Dean’s just so nice.”

“ _I did get that impression._ ”

“I hope he doesn’t think I’m just humoring him, with the board games and just generally spending time with him,” Castiel says worriedly. “That would be terrible.”

“ _It would. Perhaps you should tell him._ ”

“You think so? But isn’t that inappropriate? I don’t want to be overwhelming, you know I don’t have a good gauge for that type of thing.”

“ _From your descriptions it sounds like he’s fine with you just the way you are. Unless you’re putting on airs…?_ ”

“Oh no, not here, not with him,” Castiel says. “What would even be the point of that?”

“ _Of course, silly me._ ”

“He won’t even be at the house as often anymore. He’ll be here intermittently to manage the party, but once that’s done he’ll be gone.” Castiel falls silent as that sinks in. “Maybe I should come visit you after.”

“ _Whoa, you’re ditching work already?_ ”

“No, Mary’s taking a break as well,” Castiel says. “The party’s a prelude to a family gathering, which she said they do semi-annually. I think the idea is that since most of the extended family will be in town for her dinner – it’s the first since John passed, so almost everyone’s making the effort – it’s efficient to extend that into a group trip together. Mary said one of her cousins is organizing it.”

“ _Right, I forgot that was a thing they do. Lucky_ we _don’t have one of those, right?_ ”

“Yes,” Castiel says. “That would be quite alarming. So if Mary’s going away, maybe I should take a holiday as well?”

“ _Uh… it’s a little last-minute, Cas. Of course I’d love to have you but my schedule’s still a little packed right now…_ ”

“No, you’re right.”

“ _You can totally come in… three, four weeks, I think? Let me get some dates for you, how about that?_ ”

“That sounds good. Thank you.”

“ _I’ll send those to you in a bit, all right? Actually, you and Mary should totally come visit me together. Bring Dean, if you can!_ ”

“Oh,” Castiel says in surprise. “I didn’t think of that.”

Anna laughs. “ _What’s that? Didn’t you just say that you wanted me to get to know him? Are you afraid he’ll like me better?_ ”

“I don’t know. He might? I wouldn’t know.”

“ _Cas_ ,” Anna says gently. “ _I was just teasing._ ”

“I’m aware, I’m not upset.”

“ _I didn’t say you were upset_.” Anna sighs, while Castiel clutches the phone to his ear, discomfited and confused. “ _I’m sorry, let’s change the subject, okay?_ ”

“All right,” Castiel says.

Although Anna steers the conversation away to the new and interesting people she’s met in the past week, the pit in Castiel’s stomach doesn’t completely go away. Even when she bids him goodnight and hangs up, Castiel is left twitchy and restless, and not comforted like he usually is whenever they finish up one of their semi-regular long-distance conversations. If anything, he almost feels worse than when they started, which is alarming and has him immediately rewinding the conversation in his head to make sure he wasn’t accidentally rude or insulting to his sister. He doesn’t believe he was, though, and Anna seemed perfectly happy as they bid their farewells. She would certainly call him out if he reverted to old habits.

Still, it remains that Castiel is unsettled, and his heart beating quickly. He puts his phone away and rolls onto his side, one arm reaching up to hold his head pillow closer.

There was something in her voice, Castiel decides. A knowing lilt, but not a cruel one, especially at the mention of Dean. Castiel feels indignant; does Anna not believe his descriptions of Dean? That doesn’t seem like Anna at all, who tends to think the best of people, yet she’d sounded… amused.

Castiel shakes his head and reminds himself that that’s a perfectly reasonable response from Anna, because he _was_ going on and on for a while there. But can anyone really blame him? There’s a lot to talk about and it’s not as though Castiel has a wealth of people willing to listen to him. He certainly can’t talk about this to _Mary_ , because she already knows how wonderful her son is. That just leaves Anna.

Yet Castiel didn’t even get to _start_ telling her about how Dean makes himself available for his friends’ start-ups, not just to provide funding but to assist in networking and participate in the actual hard work of getting a business off the ground. It may take a great deal to earn Dean’s trust in that way, but once they have it, he will go to bat for them as passionately as he does anything else. Of course, Dean didn’t actually spell all this _out_ for Castiel but he’d pieced it together from the various anecdotes from himself, as well as from Mary and Jess. Castiel would love to know more but Dean gets so awkward whenever Castiel tries to press for further information on his accomplishments.

It’s a pity, because Dean shouldn’t be awkward about those kinds of things. He gets all huffy and self-conscious – which isn’t a bad thing, but Castiel always feels a little jolt whenever Dean’s calm and steady, his gaze direct and sure. His eyes may be beautiful but it’s the _way_ he looks at people that really makes the difference. Castiel wants Dean to look at him almost as much as he wants to look _at_ Dean.

Actually, that’s unfair. Castiel doesn’t really need Dean’s attention; it’s enough to simply to be in Dean’s presence. Then he can hear Dean speak, listen to his opinions, learn more about who he is. That would be enough.

Castiel laughs at that last thought. It’s true, but he can’t imagine telling Anna that, not without her getting the wrong idea, as if Castiel is a stalker. He’s reasonably certain that he hasn’t violated any of Dean’s boundaries that way.

At least, he hopes he hasn’t.

A shiver moves up Castiel’s spine as he considers the possibility. Dean does act strange around him sometimes, and there are moments he still doesn’t quite understand that felt heavier somehow, the air thick as molasses. Castiel’s chest still tightens when he thinks of that moment by the window in Dean’s apartment, the way they’d stood close, Dean’s eyes boring into his. Castiel tells himself that he only _wanted_ to touch Dean, he didn’t _actually_ touch him.

He still does, too. Dean’s not even in the house and Castiel can still remember the way he smells. He remembers the light brown of his eyelashes, the strong line of his jaw, the way his chest heaves with each breath. Castiel’s yearning to touch is not that removed from his yearning to listen to Dean – it’s part and parcel of the same thing, which is the experience of Dean. Castiel would like to experience Dean as much as is possible.

Platonically, of course. With Anna’s voice still ringing in his ear, Castiel’s conscious of how all of this might sound to others, but it’s perfectly platonic, because while Dean may be handsome and charming and physically put-together, that’s still secondary to how _interesting_ he is, and kind, and sweet, and how Castiel’s felt happier in Dean’s presence than he’s been in a long time. That’s socialization and emotional connections, which are further evidenced by how Castiel is pretty freaking bummed out that he won’t be seeing Dean around the house as much in the near future.

Castiel draws his legs up a little, curling against the sheets. Dean probably gives the best hugs, and he’d probably be able to make Castiel feel better just by hugging him. Maybe he won’t even need _that_ , for even the thought of an arm over his shoulder has Castiel’s stomach tensing in excitement. Dean could haul him in, holding him, and that would mean he’d be close enough for Castiel to smell, which would be very nice.

Just then Castiel realizes with a sudden, quiet clarity, that he wouldn’t be averse to kissing Dean either. The thought arrives without fanfare – a simple extrapolation from other thoughts that came before it.

He wouldn’t mind kissing Dean, no more than he would mind bumping Dean’s arm, or holding Dean’s hand. They’re all the same, and they come from the same place of longing for nearness with the subject.

Friends don’t kiss, though. Well, they _can_ , but it’s Castiel understanding that platonic friends _usually_ don’t kiss with regularity, which is the hypothetical scenario that he’s now considering. Because Castiel would definitely not mind kissing Dean regularly if it would make him happy, for Dean seems to be the sort of person who enjoys kisses and other kinds of physical contact, on top of emotional ones.

Castiel’s not sure about sex, though, which is where this train of thought leads. He’s never thought about sex with men beyond the abstract conceptualization that it must be something other people do. Other people like _Dean_ , of course – though Castiel’s never heard him talk about the sexual attractiveness and availability of other people the way Balthazar does. Does that mean anything? It might not mean anything. It’s probably too much to hope for that Dean would be interested in non-sexual touching, which is really the crux of Castiel’s interest.

How does one even _ask_ for that? Hello, I’d like to hold you and kiss you and maybe press my face against your chest for a little while, but nothing more risqué than that? Dean has a very nice chest. Truly, Dean is very well-formed practically all over, but that shouldn’t _matter_ , Castiel knows it shouldn’t matter, so there’s no reason for his pulse to be jumping at the prospect of touching Dean inappropriately in places he’d seen that one time they were in the pool together.

If Castiel closes his eyes he can just about picture the shape of Dean’s hipbones, as well as the gentle slope of his back leading into his shorts – both were clearly visible when he dove into the pool. It was very picturesque.

Castiel exhales sharply, and realizes that his breath is coming up short. He’s even sweating a little, and he’s been rubbing his foot against the mattress back and forth. He shifts against the bed, trying to find a more comfortable position to lie down in, and realizes that he’s hard.

He remains still for a handful of seconds, breathing steadily through his mouth and trying to process the fact that he’d apparently gotten hard while thinking about Dean. Castiel tells himself that this isn’t _that_ unusual, for it must happen to loads of people who find Dean attractive, though of course there’s the matter where Castiel has to now acknowledge that _he_ finds Dean attractive as well. Aesthetic appreciation is well and fine, but even Castiel knows that certain boundaries are being breached when the thought of Dean smirking and flexing his biceps makes Castiel’s cock pulse in anticipation.

It’s too easy for Castiel to drag his fingers down his chest and imagine that they’re Dean’s fingers – Dean’s lovely, thick fingers that handle playing cards and gaming tiles with delicacy and dexterity. Castiel pushes his hand into his shorts and cups his erection loosely, but once there he falters, at a loss as to what Dean might do next.

A better idea is for Castiel to roll over onto his stomach – which he does – and with two flicks of his thumbs push the elastic band of his shorts past his hips. With one hand holding the base of his cock, he can rub against the bed quite efficiently. This is straightforward, in that he can visualize Dean underneath him, available and willing for Castiel rut against. If Castiel presses his face to the bed just so, he can also imagine that he’s nuzzling Dean’s chest; if he raises his hips a little in each thrust he can almost feel Dean’s phantom fingers gripping his waist back, guiding his movements.

Arousal pools between his legs, though tendrils of it spread out through the rest of his body – inside his thighs, up his spine, over his nipples. Castiel thinks he could definitely reach orgasm like this, as long as he nurtures the fantasy carefully.

But if he _does_ orgasm like this, he’ll leave evidence all over the sheets and… either Meg or Pamela will know about it, for certain, because Castiel’s not allowed to use the laundry room himself. Although he’s certain neither of them will make a big deal about it, that knowledge has him shuddering for decidedly non-sexy reasons.

He rolls onto his back and looks down at his erection, which has wilted a little. He could go into the shower to finish it off, but now that he’s had two seconds to think about what he’s doing, squeamishness settles in his stomach, edging the arousal out of the way.

Castiel is staying in Mary’s house, and he is lusting after her son. Technically there’s nothing wrong with this pair of facts, but it _feels_ wrong, because Castiel was invited here as a friend, and his relationship with Dean exists only because of his relationship with Mary. There’s a betrayal in there somewhere, and Castiel refuses to let his wayward attachment damage one of the very few indisputably positive things he has in his life.

He sighs.


	10. can’t you feel it burnin’ on and on

In the days leading up to the party, the house changes shape. Mary and Dean and the rest of their staff get into an intense bout of spring cleaning, and though Castiel would love to help, he’s banished from the scene as per Mary’s orders, so the most he can do is surreptitiously carry things to where they’re needed when no one is looking. Extra tables and chairs are taken out from storage, fittings are polished, curtains and cushion covers are changed, so on so forth. By the time the canopy is set up over the terrace leading out from the second dining room, it’s almost like Castiel’s just arrived all over again.

Castiel thinks that this sense of displacement and change is apropos, considering the emotional turbulence that has become his latest and greatest companion. Maybe ‘turbulence’ is too strong a word, because it’s not as though Castiel’s at any risk of resorting to humiliating dramatics due to his newly-realized affection for Dean. But Castiel _is_ dealing with various levels of confusion, self-consciousness, guilt and bewilderment at this turn of events, because of how suddenly it crept upon him, and how much clarity it brings to every single moment of joy he’s found in Dean’s presence in recent times.

The first time Castiel saw Dean post-realization was probably the most confusing, because it only occurred after he’d had a few days to stew in the mire of his emotions. Dean showed up at the house on the next Saturday morning to start work on party prep, and when Castiel saw him he’d had about eight seconds of acute, skin-tingling awkwardness of being in the presence of a man he’d touched himself over, but then he forgot all about that when Dean asked if Castiel wanted to play a round of Hive to get warmed up, which they did (actually, two rounds), and it was only after they’d done that and had a brunch snack (courtesy of Benny) that Castiel remembered – oh, right, he’s supposed to be self-conscious about interacting with Dean now.

So Castiel chalked up the attraction as a fluke, until he’d turned around and watched Dean carry a stack of chairs out onto the patio, which made his thighs and arms flex in interesting ways.

Since then it’s just been more of that: a veritable rollercoaster of ups and downs where Castiel oscillates between dismay over wanting a man he wouldn’t know the first thing about courting, and relief that he only really wants to be Dean’s friend because hanging out with him is obviously far more interesting than _dating_.

Of course, then the annoying voice in Castiel’s head reminds him that he’s being an idiot, because people who date can _also_ enjoy hanging out together, so pursuing Dean romantically would actually open up even more avenues for spending time together, and wouldn’t that be exciting? Then Castiel’s thoughts careen down the path of wondering what it would be like to actually date Dean, which could be, _yes_ , exciting, but would more likely be terrifying, because a person like Dean surely has certain expectations. Not unkind expectations, but expectations all the same.

This is truth: Castiel’s only just _now_ figuring how to nurture friendships that are mutually healthy and beneficial, so what genius in the world could possibly think he’s prepared to pursue relationships more complicated than that?

He’s not.

Yet the idea of it is out there, so during the days of the Winchester house makeover Castiel occasionally meditates on the possibility of actually being in a relationship with Dean. He’s careful not to let his thoughts show and, truth be told, he only ever remembers it whenever Dean’s being particularly charming or smiling at Castiel in that way that has his stomach flipping.

Castiel even finds the mental fortitude to contemplate the possibility of Dean finding _him_ attractive. The appeal of certain physical attributes may be subjective, but based on the single data point of Donnie (seeing as there are no pictures of Bela around the house for Castiel to review), there is a chance that Castiel might loosely fall under Dean’s type – if Dean has a type, and that type involves men about his height who have dark hair. Castiel knows that there simply has to be more than that, but this is one of those fields where he is damn near 100% useless, and indulging himself by studying his reflection tells him absolutely nothing.

Funnily enough, it’s Meg who makes Castiel feel mildly better on this front. Less than week before the party he takes out the one set of dress clothes he’d kept with him from Anna’s, and is dismayed to find that they no longer fit properly. When he goes to find Meg (who is taking a break at the back of the house and playing a game on her phone), she takes one look at him – standing there sadly and holding his pants out – and smirks.

“You’ve put on weight,” she says matter-of-factly.

“I know that,” Castiel says curtly. “But this is the only pair of dress pants I have.”

“Why don’t you ask Mary to get you something?”

“I can’t do that. Just – just have a look and let me know if it can be fixed. It’s all right around the waist, but it pinches at my – at my hips.”

“Jesus Christ, what the hell happened to your thighs,” Meg says, peering around. “That’s your own fault, you know, you cycle too damned much and it’s changed the definition in your legs. Your calves are probably heinous by now, let me have a look.”

“What?” Castiel stands up straight while Meg takes the pants and holds it up against him. “I’ve _gained_ weight.”

“Surprise! Muscle is dense and heavy.” Meg rolls her eyes. “You wanted to be a beefcake? Congrats, you’re a beefcake.”

“I – I didn’t mean to…” Castiel squints at her. “That could be a positive, but you rolled your eyes, so I’m not sure if it’s sarcasm or a backhanded compliment.”

Meg shrugs. “Both, pretty much.”

“Really?” Castiel looks down at himself. “Do you think I’m…”

“You’re what?”

“Do I look all right? Is my appearance appealing?”

Meg raises an eyebrow. “If you’re hitting on me, I’m gonna have to cut that off at the quick.”

Castiel recoils. “I don’t mean _you_ , specifically you, but just in general. It’s just a general question about myself, because I think you’d be honest about that.”

“I would.” Meg leans back, arms crossed. “Yeah, you’re not hard to look at. Generally speaking.”

Castiel tries to feel flattered by so blunt a statement, but it doesn’t quite take. It tells him nothing about Dean, and any appeal he might have for Dean, so Meg might as well be telling him that his head’s misshapen and his nose’s too big for how helpful it is in the bigger picture.

“Thank you,” Castiel manages. “So, how about my pants?”

Meg pinches the cloth at Castiel’s hips. “Okay, so I think I can take this out a little, but to be frank it’s a terrible idea and you’ll be better off just getting a new pair. You should ask Dean to take you.”

“Dean? Why?”

“Boy knows how to dress.”

“Yes, he does.” He coughs. “But I don’t want to bother him. Can you just take this pair out?”

“Fine.” Meg leads him into the laundry room, where she draws on his pants with some colored chalk and mutters to herself. When she’s done she stands back and says, “Didn’t know you cared about your looks there, Cas.”

“I don’t. It’s just that it’s a thing that matters to other people sometimes. I don’t get it, and I feel like I’m missing out on a whole separate conversation that’s going on right over my head.”

“Eh, you’re not,” Meg says. “But if you’re in need of a bolster to your ego, there’s this: you are disarmingly sweet and non-threatening, and some people like that, whether or not you got the looks to go with it.”

“But I’m pushy,” Castiel says. “And rude, sometimes.”

“Thank God,” Meg says with groan, “otherwise the sweet thing would’ve gotten old _fast_.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“Sport, looks only go so far. You with me on that?”

“Yes?” Castiel says slowly.

“If you were a complete and utter asshole, that would be a bigger dealbreaker than not being a studmuffin,” Meg says. “People are complicated. What makes a person attractive to any single other person is complicated. You with me on _that_?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, nodding vehemently. “I definitely understand that part.”

“So, what are you asking, really?” Meg asks. “Because you’re gonna find people who think you’re the bomb, and you’re gonna find people who think you look like a horse’s ass. Sure, you can do things to supplement yourself – dress nice, comb your hair, whatever – but if you _really_ wanna get a read on whether someone digs you, you take a look at how they treat you, at whether they enjoy your company.”

“That could mean anything. Mary enjoys my company.”

“True,” Meg says, “but it’s an important indicator anyway.”

Castiel has a sudden, vivid flashback to the way Dean laughed yesterday when he made a joke – he can’t even remember what it was, but Dean reacted as though it was the funniest thing in the world. It’s true that Dean laughs like that a lot so Castiel knows better than to take it personally, but he can draw a straight line from Dean’s joy in that moment to the pleasure Castiel felt in causing that joy, to the sense in what Meg’s telling him.

“Yes, it is,” Castiel agrees. “You’re right.”

“I usually am,” Meg says.

Of course, this discussion isn’t actually beneficial in the long run because Castiel can’t actually _do_ anything about his fixation on Dean as long as he works for Mary and lives in her house, but it’s nice to have at least one angle on it covered. That angle, of course, is the awareness of the potential that Dean might actually like him as a person and enjoy his company for what it is, and simply not because he’s obligated to play the decent host to his mother’s friend. If Castiel were to coax that enjoyment further once his tenure in the Winchester house is over, then… well.

Maybe?

It’s nice to think about, anyway.

  


* * *

  


Two days before the party, Sam and Jess return.

The intense preparation of merrymaking pervades the atmosphere of the house, to the point that Castiel gives up on trying to get any meaningful work done, figuring that he can recover while everyone’s off for the Campbell family gathering. By this time Castiel’s also somewhat zen on the Dean issue, which he’s relegated to the same mental space occupied by the many other issues he’s in the middle of processing (sabotaging his career, splitting from Michael and Luke, the general terrifying opaqueness of the unknown future). What is yet another addition to the growing list of things that occasionally keep Castiel up at night? It is what it is.

There’s still a great deal of work to be done to keep everyone occupied, anyway. As is normal for any event, there are things that pop at the last minute: dealing with catering emergencies, the fortuitously-timed breaking down of various household fixtures, and the last minute travel and accommodation issues faced by their extended family members. Castiel would rather have that game of Catan with Sam and Jess, just like Dean suggested, but he instead finds himself acting as a runner on various errands, or is left alone in the house while everyone’s out on their own various errands.

Then there’s the incident that confirms that whatever hope Castiel had of developing a tighter camaraderie with the nuclear Winchester family, is in the pits. It’s just his luck.

It’s night time, and less than 24 hours from the estimated arrival of the first guests. There’s no point doing a proper sit-down dinner in the primary dining room which has been revamped for the party, so they’re all in the kitchen eating takeout. Well, Castiel, Sam and Jess are eating the takeout; Mary’s typing away on her laptop and Dean’s arguing quietly with someone on the phone.

“Do you mind moving to another room?” Mary says to Sam and Jess. “Grandma Deanna wants to stay at the house, so I think it’s best if she takes the room near the stairs.”

“Isn’t she supposed to be staying with Lainie?” Sam asks.

“ _I’m_ not gonna ask for details,” Mary says. “Do you want to?”

Sam guffaws. “Noooo.”

“Hmm,” Jess says thoughtfully. “Wouldn’t it be better if she used one of the downstairs rooms? They’ve all been tidied up.”

“I’m assuming everything on the ground floor’s going to be a warzone by the end of the night,” Mary says.

“I keep saying, just lock the doors,” Sam says.

“Better idea,” Dean says, finally putting his phone down, “just don’t invite the kids.”

 Sam gasps and clutches his chest. “You _love_ having the kids around.”

“Not when we’re the ones dealing with clean-up, no.”

Sam grins. “I bet my life you’ll pick up Amy, or Christian’s new boy, what’s his name? You’ll pick them up and say—” he drops into a low, shaky voice, “—it’s all worth it.”

“Keep this up,” Dean says, “and you’ll never know rest until you make me a full-fledged uncle.”

“Please,” Jess laughs, “I doubt you have anything on my mother.”

“Wanna bet?”

Sam knocks his hand on the counter in front of Mary. “What about the locking doors, idea? Genius, no?”

“Honey,” Mary says, “you know we can’t lock the doors.”

“Yeah!” Dean tosses a carrot piece at his brother. “You _know_ we got plenty of people coming who’d find a locked door a challenge. Or worse – _rude._ ” He snickers.

“That’s alarming,” Castiel says. “Should I lock my door as well?”

“You’re fine,” Mary says. “We cordon off that area for staff, and they’ll stay away. Actually, that reminds me, Cas?

“Yes?”

“I think just to be on the safe side, you shouldn’t mention to anyone that you’re staying here. Same goes for everyone else, all right? Cas is helping me with my thesis, that’s fine, but we should leave it at that.”

“All right,” Castiel says.

“Okay,” Mary says. “So we’ve got Mom’s room settled, and then there’s—”

“Wait,” Dean says. “Why?”

Mary looks up from her laptop, at a loss. “Why what?”

“Why we gotta lie about Cas like that?” Dean’s voice is eerily calm, and Castiel feels himself shrink a little in his seat.

“It’s not lying,” Mary says. “It’s just avoiding mentioning a detail that could be misconstrued.”

“Misconstrued how?” Dean asks.

Mary presses a hand to her mouth and closes her eyes briefly. “You know that we have relatives and associates that will – and _have_ – jumped to all sorts of awful conclusions on the slightest thing.”

“So is Grandma Deanna not supposed to be in the know either?”

“Dean,” Mary says, exasperated. “I don’t want to argue. There’s already so much we have to deal with right now.”

“I’m not arguing,” Dean says, “I’m just asking. You not gonna tell grandma either?”

“I’ll tell her if I want to tell her,” Mary says sharply.

“Okay, sure,” Dean says flippantly.

Mary scowls at him. “What is wrong with you?”

“I don’t know,” Dean says, shrugging, “you’re just acting like you got something to be ashamed about.”

“Ashamed?” Mary echoes, eyes wide with shock. Her jaw set, she turns to address Castiel, “Cas, does this request bother you?”

“No,” Castiel says quickly, quietly. “I understand.”

“Of course he says that,” Dean snaps. “It’s not like he has much a choice. What does he care what grandma thinks? Or what _Dad_ would think.”

The kitchen is abruptly blisteringly cold, or maybe that’s just in Castiel’s head. He’s frozen in his seat, food forgotten and unable to look at anything except Mary’s face, and the way it twitches through various emotions.

“Well, your father isn’t here,” Mary says, her voice cracking as she speaks. “I’m sorry but you’re stuck with me instead.” She takes a quick breath, and then glares at her laptop for a second before picking it up and taking it with her as she walks out of the room.

Castiel’s body finally unlocks, and he fumbles off the chair and onto his feet, taking in the rest of room. Sam’s back is facing them, so Castiel has no idea what’s going on there, but Jess makes immediate eye contact, looking awkward and sympathetic. As for Dean, he’s crossing his arms and staring at the wall, though he just looks uncomfortable, and not angry as Castiel expected.

“Excuse me, I’ll just…” Castiel rushes off after her, nearly tripping over his own feet as he goes.

It takes a bit of a search, but Castiel finds Mary in front of the garage. She’s just standing there, glaring at nothing in particular, her laptop discarded some distance back on one of the garden tables (Castiel set it aside carefully for collecting later).

Mary doesn’t acknowledge Castiel’s presence, so he tries to open with, “Dean didn’t mean what he said.”

“Yes, he did,” Mary returns.

“Mary—”

“Just stop!” She glares at him. “I don’t need you telling me that this is all in my head, or that I’m a damned fool for feeling this way.”

Castiel is taken aback. “No, I wouldn’t—”

“But that’s what you’re _saying_! Or you were about to say, isn’t it? Oh Mary, you’re overreacting, you’re jumping at shadows.” She glares at him, daring him to deny it.

The worst part is that Castiel cannot. Castiel truly does believe that Dean didn’t say what he said in order to hurt, but when he puts more than two seconds thought into it, he cannot immediately come up with another reason for such words. That said, Castiel is still very much an outsider, only privy to glimpses of the inner workings of this family. Mary may have shared some details with him but that only scratches the surface.

So Castiel stays silent, acknowledging Mary’s right to be angry. He considers giving her privacy as well, but holds out his hand, just in case.

Though Mary glares at first, she offers her own hand out, prompting Castiel to take it. He moves to stand next to her, so they may share the silence together.

Like most nights out here, it’s pretty quiet save the occasional vehicle driving past and bird screeching somewhere up above. There are also a smattering of stars visible in the sky, which isn’t as impressive as some pictures he’s seen on the internet, but is still much improved over the view he’d had when he lived in the thick of the city.

Standing out here, Castiel understands why Mary likes to spend her mornings walking in the gardens. It’s peaceful and conducive to gathering one’s thoughts, or maybe just not thinking at all.

It occurs to Castiel that Dean’s anger must have come from a place of worry. Dean worries about his mother, and in doing so he hovers too close to her affairs, yet at the same time _not_ close enough. Or maybe, it’s simply the type of hovering that is wrong; Mary wants her sons to be around, but not in this way. What even is the ‘wrong’ way and the ‘right’ way? Castiel doesn’t have a clue, and he suspects that Dean and Mary aren’t clear about it either.

Castiel doesn’t think he should say this out loud, though. Not yet.

“The worst part,” Mary says quietly, her eyes wide and fixated on a far-off sight, “is that I… I do miss him a lot, almost every day, but other times I’m relieved he’s gone. _Relieved_.”

“That doesn’t make you a bad person,” Castiel says. “You said it yourself, your relationship had its ups and downs, so of course you wouldn’t miss the downs – the parts where it wasn’t so good.”

“You don’t understand,” Mary says, though she sounds more tired than angry, “I fought to be with John. My parents – okay, my father – didn’t approve of him, but I went to bat for his sake, for _our_ sake. I had to choose between the family I had, and the family I wanted, and I picked John. I _have_ to believe that it was worth it.”

“But you’ve reconciled with your family,” Castiel says. “At least enough that you participate in gatherings and…”

Mary snorts. “I thought you’d be an expert on maintaining a skin-deep relationship with family.”

“That’s true. But… all right, may I speak plainly now? You don’t need to listen, and you may stop me.”

Mary sighs and takes her hand out from Castiel’s. “All right.”

“I don’t know what it’s like to have a partner the way you had John, or what it is to lose that. But Mary… John’s _gone_ , and he’s been gone for some time. Your sons, however, are still here. That’s all I’d like to say.”

Mary swallows. Her brow furrows, as though she wants to argue, but then she nods. “Yeah.” She sighs. “Yeah. I know how much you care. I do appreciate it.”

Although Castiel is far from being an expert on Winchester family dynamics, he has a reasonable idea what will happen after this. Mary will return inside and although there will be some tension, soon enough they’ll return to the jokes and smiles and laughter, plus the other last minute tasks for tomorrow’s event, and most importantly everyone will pretend that those five minutes in the kitchen never happened.

When he and Mary finally _do_ go back inside, to where the rest of the dinner remains to be eaten, Castiel’s even proven right. Dean, Sam and Jess are still there, still eating, and Mary enters the room with a light, “Y’all better not have touched my dumplings.”

“You know we always order extra,” Sam says. “In case Hungry Hungry Hippo over there hasn’t made off with them.”

“You slander me one more time and gloves are off in front of Jess,” Dean says.

Castiel returns to his seat at the counter top and exchanges a look with Jess, who seems just as frustrated and unimpressed as Castiel feels. He shrugs – what are you going to do – while Jess gives a little eyeroll that makes Castiel think this is far from the first time Jess has seen this, and that she’s given up trying to do something about it.

At least they’re not as bad as Castiel’s family, he tells himself. They dearly care for each other, for starters.


	11. so bring your good times and your laughter, too

It is only by the grace of one Meg Masters that Castiel looks at all decent in his suit. Castiel stands in front of the full-length mirror in his room and adjusts his cuffs, all the while eyeing his reflection and trying to shake off the feeling that he’s about to step into his office.

He’s wearing this for pleasure, not for work. Of course, his brain then decides to remind him that he used to wear this for pleasure _and_ work, because there are a great many things that can be accomplished if one has a sharp suit. Which is probably why Castiel discarded most of the others he had and kept this set, which was one of the shabbier entries in his closet. There’s no point regretting that decision, but Castiel kind of wishes that he kept the black one with the silver lining, which he thinks was a little more flattering.

The white shirt he’s wearing is his own but he doesn’t like the way it looks between the lapels of his suit, what with his not wearing a tie like he normally does. Unfortunately, he hasn’t brought any ties with him, and he’s loathe to borrow one from the other men in the house.

Castiel takes a deep breath, aware that there’s only so long that he can delay going outside. Now that he’s actually here, Castiel realizes that he would actually much prefer to just stay in his room (and he knows that Mary wouldn’t mind if he does), but two things compel him against that: dinner, which he should get before the rest of the guests arrive, and Dean, whom he’s not seen since last night’s awkwardness. Castiel chalks up that second point to the fact that he simply hasn’t seen as much of Dean lately, and he’d like to at least get one more decent memory of Dean before he moves on.

Still, Castiel hesitates when he opens the door. The acoustics of the house are such that he can hear the caterers hard at work and the laughter of the early arrivals, and it has Castiel tensing up and expecting the worst. He might actually have to _talk_ to people.

“Stop,” Castiel says quietly to himself. “Just stop.”

He steps out and moves down the corridor, past the kitchen and into the open space that connects both dining rooms and the canopy-covered patio outside. There are under a dozen well-dressed guests so far spread throughout the area, including two small children who are chasing each other around one of the buffet tables. No one really registers his presence, save the server who offers him a drink from a tray.

“Thank you,” Castiel says, accepting the drink. He’s been watching the house’s transformation bit by bit, but this is the first time he’s seen everything set up to completion, right down to the non-offensive music playing and the lit candles on the various tables and fixtures.

Mary and Dean aren’t here, so Castiel assumes at least one of them is out front, greeting guests as they arrive. Sam is speaking with an elderly gentleman, while Jess is walking straight towards Castiel with a smile.

“There you are.” Jess laughs when Castiel offers her his arm, which she accepts. “None of the Campbells are here yet, though I’m not really surprised.”

“Oh,” Castiel says. “Do you know anyone? Besides me, I mean.”

“Well,” Jess says, looking around, “the man Sam’s talking to is the former dean of our alma mater, he’s been in touch over the years, his wife is the one sitting there. That handsome crew that’s conquered that table are some of Dean’s colleagues, they’re well-behaved for now but keep an eye on them once they get a few drinks in. I think the ladies over there are Mary’s friends from way back, but I don’t know them very well. The kids belong to one of them, I think. I have no idea who that lady is.”

“That’s Rowena,” Castiel says, “she’s Mary’s friend as well. Is anyone from your family coming?”

“Sadly, my folks live too far away,” Jess says. “But they are here in spirit – they helped me pick a present for Mary.”

“I haven’t even wished her happy birthday yet,” Castiel says. “Well, I sort of did this morning before she ran out of the house, but I don’t know if she heard me.”

“Which means that you have to hang around for the cake cutting,” Jess says primly.

“Of course I’m hanging around, why wouldn’t I hang around?”

Jess grins at him. “Because I know that look, and it is a look I’ve held in my heart from time to time.”

Castiel nods. “I am glad to know some experiences are universal.”

There are a number of reasons that Castiel’s uneasy in this setting. Mary, being a good friend, knows those reasons, and has been kind enough to not pressure Castiel to join her often on social outings, despite her low-key concern (shared with Anna) that he needs to meet more people. Castiel knows that he gets a little overboard with his desire to keep to himself sometimes, because the chances of one of his fears actually coming true have been significantly lowered since his moving out here to be with Anna.

Yet at that moment, in Mary’s house, Castiel’s months-long good luck finally decides to give up the ghost.

“Is that Castiel?” comes a low purr of a voice. “No, it can’t be.”

Castiel turns slowly despite every fiber of his being knowing how bad a decision that is. Standing there, one hand holding on to a wine glass and the other pressed against his chest, is Fergus Crowley.

“It _is_ ,” Crowley says, surprised and intrigued. “I didn’t know you were acquainted with Mary Winchester. Or are you the plus one for this lovely lady here?”

“Crowley,” Castiel says.

“Ah, you do remember!” Crowley grins. “Seriously, though, is _this_ where you’ve been hiding all this time? Because I thought your taste ran a little more—”

Castiel moves without thinking, grabbing Crowley’s lapel and hauling him close with one sharp tug. Crowley’s mouth snaps shut, but despite the sudden tension in his body he doesn’t resist, doesn’t try to pull away.

“You didn’t see me here,” Castiel says. “You didn’t see me at all.”

“Of course,” Crowley says. “My mistake, I thought you were someone else.”

“Good. I’ll remember that.”

Crowley nods and moves away, downing his drink as he goes without a glance back. Castiel watches him go, his heart pounding almost as quickly as Crowley’s footsteps, before he realizes that Jess is still holding onto his arm. He turns sharply in alarm, but Jess merely seems confused and curious.

“I apologize,” Castiel says, “I have to… Excuse me.” He releases her arm and turns to leave, only to almost run right into Dean Winchester, who’s standing right behind them.

“Was Crowley bothering you?” Dean asks quietly. “It’s okay, you don’t have to—”

“I need to go.” Castiel nods rapidly. “Thank you.”

“All right,” Dean says, non-judgmental, which is the best reaction Castiel can hope for, except when Castiel makes haste getting the hell out of the party area and back the way he came, Dean follows.

Dean is an irritating, annoying, insufferable person who can’t take a hint, and trails Castiel all the way to the back of the house, past the kitchen and various catering staff. Castiel’s more than halfway up the stairs before he realizes that he’d missed the turning to his room, but he can’t backtrack because Dean is behind him. At least going up to the split-level will put him a whole half-floor away from Fergus freaking Crowley, in this place of all places.

“Cas.” Dean pokes at Castiel’s back, nudging him up the last few steps. “C’mon, let’s get a drink.”

Castiel protests half-heartedly, too unnerved to put up a proper fight, so he lets Dean guide him past the pantry and the TV room to the game room at the far end, where Dean makes a beeline for the minibar underneath the wall-mounted television.

“There are drinks downstairs,” Castiel grumbles. He’s been in this room only once, but is utterly uninterested in doing anything but standing vaguely near the door and glowering at the floor. He hears Dean tinker around and then a glass is shoved under his nose – he glowers at that, too. “What’s that?”

“Bourbon, two fingers. You like this, right? Don’t have any wine up here, sorry.”

Castiel accepts the glass, only intending to take a tiny sip, but Dean’s right – he does enjoy the Winchester house’s bourbon stashes – and ends up letting the whole glass slide soothingly down his throat. He then shoves the glass back at Dean, who gamely finishes his own drink and takes the empty pair back to the minibar without a sound of complaint.

“Crowley’s a douche,” Dean says, his back to Castiel as he sets the glasses down, “and you wouldn’t be the first to be on the receiving end of his particular brand of doucheyness. I don’t think Rowena even _wants_ to bring him to these things, but he keeps coming over to schmooze the guest list.”

“Ah.” Castiel unconsciously grits his teeth at the mention of Crowley, and he goes back to squinting at the floor. “Rowena’s his mother.”

“Yeah.” Dean’s footsteps approach and stop somewhere off to Castiel’s left, not that Castiel has the fortitude to look at him at this point. “I’ve punched the guy in the face before, if that makes you feel better?” When Castiel doesn’t respond, Dean adds, “If he was messing with you, I’d consider doing it again.”

Castiel grimaces, horrified at Dean’s mistaken leap at protecting his honor. “Did you hear what he called me?”

“I think I’m glad I didn’t.”

“No, he said my name. My full name: Castiel. Castiel Milton. You can look me up, if you want. On the internet. Then you’d know me.”

“Don’t care for looking people up like that.”

It’s almost freeing for Castiel to raise his head and meet Dean’s gaze head-on, throwing caution to wind when he says, “You think Crowley’s a bad person?”

“Think, know – pot _a_ to, potato.”

“I worked with him. We’ve been business partners numerous times, off-and-on over the years. By choice.”

Dean blinks slowly. “What’s that?”

“Crowley, Roman, Eve, my brothers – Luke and Michael, you can look them up, too. We were in each other pockets for years, doing stock trading, securities, acquisitions, all those fun things. You only think Crowley’s bad news because you haven’t seen my resume yet.”

“Wait, Eve and Roman? You mean… _Dick_ Roman?” Dean’s mouth curls with distaste. “The industrialist?”

“He appreciated my services. Which I offered to him, because of the opportunities it afforded me.”

Dean inclines his head. “Before or after he tried going into politics?”

“Before. Though I still worked with him occasionally on a projects basis afterward. I’m good at moving numbers around. I may not be headline material, but I get things done for the people who are.” Castiel exhales, and tries to ignore the sensation that his internal organs are melting. “See Dean, when I told you that the world needs more people like you, it’s because it’s full of people like me.”

When he’d grabbed Crowley he’d even felt that same old rush in watching Crowley’s eyes light up in panic. Castiel used to live off of that euphoria, failing as he did at the time to appreciate the difference between fear and respect.

Castiel is so immersed in his nostalgic funk that it takes him too long to register Dean’s appearance. When he finally does, his heart sinks because it doesn’t seem fair to enjoy the view so soon after being reminded that he’s undeserving of it.

He tries to look away but Dean’s hair is tousled differently, and he’s shaved closely again, which is a pity even if it does enhance the interesting angles of his jaw and chin. Dean’s also wearing a different suit from last time, this one a striking burgundy color and cut a little longer past the waist. He’s gone without a tie but, unlike Castiel, he’s left his black shirt open past the collar, which highlights the color contrast between clothing and skin. Castiel wants to add that the overall effect also brings out Dean’s eyes, but so far Castiel hasn’t seen Dean wear anything that _doesn’t_ bring out his eyes, so maybe it’s a moot point.

Dean’s quiet and thinking, so Castiel wills his brain to take advantage of the moment and remember this scene as precisely as it can, for all shallow reasons as well as non-shallow reasons.

“I…” Dean starts slowly, his shoulders going back as he stands up straight, “I was pretty nasty in school. My parents didn’t know, I made sure of that. They think I was a good kid, that I had lots of friends. But those weren’t really _friends_ , they were the type of kids you kept on the good side of, because as long as you’re with them, you’re not against them, and that keeps you safe.”

Castiel shudders. “Dean, it’s not the same—”

“But I enjoyed it. I tried to tell myself sometimes that I had no choice, but I did. I had plenty of chances to stop, but it was more fun to feel be powerful, to feel in charge. Later I used family connections to get into a college I didn’t even want. Pulled even more strings when I started working, just to one up people who were more qualified than me ‘cause I couldn’t stand the boss.”

Castiel frowns. “But you said in college, that things changed after Charlie…”

“I had two sides,” Dean says. “The one I kept for my real friends, and the one I told myself I needed in order to make something of myself, because I sure as hell wasn’t gonna get there without it. I dated people I didn’t care for, just ‘cause I knew it looked good, would get me places. It’s a rush when you feel you’re the master of your own destiny, ain’t it? You got all these – these opportunities right in front of you, why _shouldn’t_ you use them?”

Castiel turns away.

“But that’s not who you are now,” Dean says. “That’s not who I am now, though I’m gonna have to be dealing with that the rest of my life. I’m thinking that that’s what happened to you, too, right? It didn’t go down exactly like it did for me, but… similar. Same ballpark, at least.”

“I’ve ruined lives, Dean. I didn’t even see them as people, as livelihoods – they were just numbers, graphs… _awards_. That ruthlessness doesn’t go away.”

“So you hobbled it,” Dean says. “You hobbled yourself. You threw out everything of that old life, ‘cause you don’t want it anymore. You want to do something else, be someone else.”

“Stop being understanding. I don’t appreciate it.”

“I think you do,” Dean says slowly. “I think you’re starving for it, ‘cause I know I was. I am. You want someone to know all of that and still wanna be with you anyway.”

“I know better than to think that’d happen,” Castiel snaps. “Anna is a miracle, and so much more than I deserve, so I would never ever ask for anything else.”

“ _Ask_ , no, but you want it anyway.” Dean’s mouth twitches into a hesitant smile. “You do want someone who sees you as you are, don’t you, Cas?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want—”

“Just answer the freaking question.” Dean’s breathing heavily, which Castiel would think strange except that he has trouble breathing as well. “Cas.”

Castiel wants to lie, and he thinks that in any other circumstance, it would be very easy to lie. But he is having this conversation in _this_ particular circumstance, with Dean watching him with open, hopeful eyes. The lie cannot come here, no matter how Castiel wills it to.

“Of course I want that.” As soon as Castiel says it, he realizes that he could easily follow that up with, _Of course I want that with you._

He’s certain he _didn’t_ say that out loud, but Dean reacts as though he heard it anyway, eyes widening and his breath catching. That is all sorts of impossible, but also impossible is how close they’re standing, though Castiel cannot remember either of them making actual steps towards the other. Logic dictates that they must have, because Dean is now near enough that Castiel can see that the buttons on his shirt have a faint arrowhead shape on them. One would think that Castiel would be used to and fully capable of sublimating the urge to touch Dean by now – whether his buttons, the strong curve of his chest, the subtle pinch at his stomach – but he isn’t. Dean is quiet and his eyes sad, yet his presence is overwhelming.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says quietly. He tries to lean away but his balance is messed up and he grabs the nearest thing – Dean’s arms, while Dean grabs him back. “I didn’t mean to – all this on you—”

“Don’t be sorry for that,” Dean insists, voice dropping into a matching whisper. “Not for… not for that.”

There is ache somewhere deep inside Castiel’s body, and it keeps Castiel where he is, unable to move. Dean’s grip is strong on his arms, so Castiel can’t help thinking if the rest of him will be like that, if Dean could kiss him like that. Dean is so close, and his soft-looking lips parted a little – Castiel wonders how they taste.

_Last chance_ , a voice whispers in Castiel’s head. It must be the same voice that told him to leave all those months ago, that same voice that had him picking up the phone and calling Anna. Castiel listens to it again now, his body moving deeper into Dean’s personal space.

Dean inhales sharply, though so softly that Castiel only hears it because he’s so close. Castiel freezes, only to be surprised when Dean makes a small, disappointed noise.

It’s a subtle invitation but an invitation all the same, and Castiel takes it by closing the distance between them and slotting his mouth against Dean’s. He tells himself that it’ll be just one kiss, just one moment of madness that he’ll deal with later, but then Dean’s kissing back, soft at first but then hot and open-mouthed. Something short circuits at the back of Castiel’s brain, rendering everything obsolete and unimportant, save the insistent press of Dean’s lips and glide of his tongue.

Dean’s kisses are deep and sensual, but not slow. There’s a franticness in him – in his touches – that makes Castiel light-headed, as is the awareness that there’s no hesitation in Dean’s movements, no uncertainty. Aside from the fact that Castiel’s glad that at least one of them is confident about how this is supposed to play out between two men, it’s also really, _really_ hot.

Castiel’s jacket is sadly bulky, which prevents him from wrapping his arms around Dean’s shoulders the way he wants. He settles for sliding his hands up Dean’s chest, pressing just firmly enough to feel the shape underneath the multiple layers, and then holding on to his lapels. Dean seems to have slightly easier range of movement, first cupping Castiel’s face and pressing his thumbs gently against the corners of Castiel’s mouth, and then running his palms down Castiel’s arms, pausing at his biceps to hiss, “Jesus Christ,” against Castiel’s lips.

Castiel doesn’t entirely understand the reason for the exclamation, but he knows it’s a compliment from the way Dean groans and comes in for the next kiss.

So focused is Castiel on following the sweet give-take of their mouths that he only belatedly registers the grip of Dean’s hands on his hips, pushing him gently backwards. A handful of shuffling steps and Castiel’s tailbone bumps against a low, hard surface, which he quickly figures out is a table. _Good idea_ , he thinks distantly, moving back so he can sit perched on the edge.

This then gives Dean leave to press in further, and with a quick flick of the button at Castiel’s stomach Dean’s hands are sliding under Castiel’s suit, round to his back. Castiel’s body lights up with approval at each touch, making him gasp Dean’s name between kisses. He knew his imagination was lacking but he didn’t expect it to be by _this_ much, that Dean would be _this_ intoxicating.

Every sensation is enthralling, from Dean’s hands rubbing circles onto his lower back, to the way he moves into the space between Castiel’s legs, giving Castiel leverage to wrap his thighs around Dean’s waist and keep him close. Yet this still isn’t enough, because Dean’s suit lapels aren’t that interesting to hold on to, so Castiel clumsily claws his way up Dean’s suit – still kissing him throughout – until he can link his hands behind Dean’s neck, holding on.

Castiel’s lips tingle and his jaw is starting to hurt, but he doesn’t want Dean to stop. At least, Castiel _thinks_ he doesn’t want Dean to stop until Dean leans in, slowly tilting Castiel backward.

Although the care in Dean’s movement is obvious – his hands are flattened firmly on Castiel’s back to brace him – Castiel realizes that he’s about to be horizontal. He’s about to be _horizontal_ , with Dean _on top_ of him and that… that’s alarming.

Castiel’s mind is so foggy that’s he’s already lying on the table before he fully registers his trepidation. He wants to keep kissing but he’s only just realized the implications of his putting his legs around Dean, who’s now draped on top of him – another step closer to sex, which Castiel hadn’t counted on. Castiel may be half-hard, the solid pressure of Dean’s body on his is glorious, and he _would_ actually like to maybe have sex with Dean one day but – not _now_ , not like this, and not when he’s not entirely sure how they even got here in the first place.

Dean notices Castiel’s fidgeting, and draws back to ask, “You okay?”

“I’m not—” Castiel shakes his head, red-faced as he realizes how dumb it might be to say it out loud, because he was the one who kissed Dean first, “I – I can’t, I’m sorry, I—”

Dean goes still, then blinks rapidly as though waking up from a dream. “Oh. Right.” He draws away, hands held awkwardly in front of him. “Right, okay.”

“Dean, no.” Castiel sits up clumsily and tries to grab at Dean, but it’s no use, he’s backed up too far. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like—”

“No, I get it, it’s cool,” Dean says quickly, “ _I’m_ sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“ _I_ kissed you first—”

“I’m sorry, man, I wasn’t thinking.” Dean laughs abruptly, the sound far too loud and making Castiel’s nerves jangle. “Totally cool. We can just… this never happened. Okay?”

Castiel’s too shocked to hear Dean recite the unofficial Winchester family motto to his face that he cannot react, and does not react as Dean as makes an efficient exit. In the end Castiel’s left by himself, disheveled and half-sprawled on a table, and bereft of answers that would make of this make sense.

Party noises from below slowly trickle in, drawing Castiel out of his shocked stupor. He takes a deep breath –  trying not to pay too much attention to how the air moves differently through kiss-tender lips – and decides that not only is there absolutely nothing salvageable about tonight, but also that he has only enough dignity left to steal food from the kitchen so to consume it in his study in peace. Yes.

  


* * *

  


That is not the end of the night’s eventfulness.

Ignoring the slowly-increasing crescendo of noise and music outside, Castiel stays in the study with food and books for company. His intention is to remain there for the rest of the night, and later get some sleep so to hopefully wake up with a clearer perspective on what transpired between him and Dean. It’s simply a fact that he won’t be able to properly figure anything out in his current agitated state, distracted as he is by the newly-gained knowledge of the way Dean tastes, smells, feels up close – which has him dangerously fantasizing about other things that he shouldn’t.

With Dean’s touch still lingering on his body, Castiel has a hard time reminding himself that it doesn’t actually _mean_ anything, aside from Dean’s not finding Castiel physically off-putting. It’s tempting to read more into it – that Dean might want Castiel half as much as Castiel wants him – but he knows so little about Dean’s sexual preferences, and it would be disrespectful to cast further assumptions on the man, not when he was shockingly open about sharing his past failings as well as listening to Castiel’s own.

There’s also the matter where Dean practically fled the scene as soon as Castiel showed second thoughts. Castiel _definitely_ can’t make any assumptions about that. Nor can he do what he really wants to do, which is find Dean immediately and explain what his reservations are. That would be mistake, owing to Crowley’s still being out there, and the aforementioned part where Castiel’s headspace is a little muddled at the moment.

After all, Castiel’s already made one mistake tonight by not doing proper reconnaissance, which allowed Crowley to catch him off-guard and ill-prepared. By staying in the study he’s always staying away from the possibility of making any other mistakes.

That’s the intention, anyway.

What actually _does_ happen is that Castiel stays in his study until close to midnight, sitting through various power ballads, cheerful instrumental pieces, and a raucous group rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ that is deserving of a standing ovation. Only twice does he leave the room, both times to go to the bathroom, and he is very careful about it.

Castiel’s second mistake of the night happens when – just as he’s contemplating using his folded-up jacket as a pillow – a young woman bumbles into the room, lost and squinting confusedly as she takes in the shelves of books.

“Not the bathroom,” she says, “okiedokie.”

“The bathroom is…” Castiel stands up from behind the desk, and the woman flails in shock, almost smacking herself in the face with her extra-long draped sleeves. “Sorry,” he says.

“Oh my God.” She braces a hand against the wall as she catches her breath. “I did not see you there. It’s almost like you popped out from the wallpaper.”

“I do that sometimes. The bathroom is on the opposite side, I’ll show you.” Castiel moves past her to point across the landing at the correct door. “There are three bathrooms downstairs, but it is quieter up here.”

“I’ll say. That’s why you’re chilling in the library, right?” She grins. “Can’t fault that logic.”

“Anti-social logic, though,” Castiel concedes. “I’ve been told that that’s frowned upon.”

“Pfft. You gotta do what you gotta do.” She frowns a little and adds in a low voice, “That said, I’m not so sure it’s a good idea to come up here by yourself. They’re pretty cool about guests but, you know, private spaces and… wait a minute. Are you Cas?”

Castiel blinks. “Um?

“Oh my ears and whiskers, I’m Charlie.” She takes Castiel’s hand and shakes it excitedly. “I’m Dean’s bestest friend, accept no substitutes. He’d better have mentioned me, I swear.”

“Yes, he has,” Castiel says, already getting a good idea why Dean loves her. “In fact he speaks of you often.”

“Whoa, really?” Charlie preens. “Dean mentioned that he wanted to add another person to our next gaming session, and he named you, so I was like, _dang_ son, you gotta at least let me meet the squire first, yeah? He didn’t say you would be—” She stops suddenly, mouth snapping shut. “I’m sorry, I get rambly when the drinks are a _little_ too free-flowing.”

“Isn’t that why you were searching for a bathroom?”

“Charming, too,” Charlie says with a laugh. “And vicious at the table, I’ve been told.”

“You believe everything Dean tells you?”

Charlie says, rubbing her hands together. “I see the future, and it is full of fun and tears.”

“Does that future including going to the bathroom? Because I’m starting to worry about your bladder.”

“Oh, I don’t need to actually use the bathroom, I just wanted to sit down somewhere quiet.” At Castiel’s welcoming gesture, Charlie toes off her heels and settles on a nearby chair with a contented sigh. “Don’t get me wrong, I am totally psyched to be here, but it gets overwhelming after an hour or so. Even if I am wearing a kick-ass dress.”

“Ah.” Castiel sits on the edge of his desk, and pays careful scrutiny to said dress. “It is very nice. My sister has red hair as well, but she’s always told me she’d never be caught dead wearing orange.”

“More for me! A sister, eh? If she’s hot and single, I am totally game for a double-date.” Charlie flinches and groans. “Okay, this is getting hazardous, I should probably actually stay in the bathroom until someone collects me.”

“Double date?” Castiel echoes, suddenly hopeful. “Did… Dean say something? About me?”

“Um. I – I don’t mean to…” She sighs. “Well done, Bradbury.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Charlie says quickly, “I, I just, I didn’t mean to make it weird. I’m really sorry.”

“I don’t see what for,” Castiel says slowly. “I need things to be spelled out for me sometimes.”

Charlie squirms, until she actually looks at Castiel and registers his genuine confusion. She sits up, intrigued. “I was referring to you and Mary. You’re… staying here for her.”

“Ah,” Castiel says. “You don’t need to worry about that, I’m quite comfortable staying here. I don’t know if Dean mentioned it, but my sister lives nearby but had to temporarily relocate for work reasons, and I was living with her at the time. Mary offered to house me, with the additional proposal of hiring me to assist her with her thesis. I know it’s unusual, but Mary’s a good friend, and it’s nice to find a situation where we can mutually help each other out.”

Charlie has been inching forward in her seat so gradually that Castiel’s a little surprised she hasn’t fallen off yet. “Friend?”

“I would be concerned if she _wasn’t_ my friend.”

“No, I mean…” Charlie laughs and takes a deep breath. “In my defense, I’m tipsy and will probably regret this later, but… you know when a single woman asks a guy to live with her, that kinda has… connotations attached?”

Castiel frowns. “Would there be connotations if you moved in with Dean?”

“No, obviously, but that’s ‘cause I’m… _oh._ ” Charlie puts her hands on her cheeks. “You’re gay, too?”

“No?” Castiel says, still confused even as Charlie’s words sink in. “At least I don’t think so, because that would imply I have a preference— wait, did you think that Mary and I were involved? Because that would be really funny.”

Charlie smiles weakly. “Yeah, I guess it is?”

Castiel can see how it could look that way, from a certain point of view. It’s hilarious though, because Mary is so… _Mary_. She’s warm and kind, but she occupies the same space in Castiel’s mind as Anna, and he’d only ever been concerned that outsiders might think he’s trying to ingratiate himself to her via her doctorate in the hopes of finding a way to steal her money, or disinherit her sons. And with the Winchester house so huge he hadn’t thought of it as moving in _with her_ , and more moving into a building that used to have four permanent tenants but now only has the one, who misses the other three deeply whether or not she admits it out loud.

“I see how you could come to that conclusion,” Castiel says at last. “Don’t worry, I’m not offended.”

“You should be,” Charlie says, surprising him. “It’s a shitty assumption based on a simplistic view of the world.”

“Assumptions are a fact of life, but it’s really up to us in determining how they affect…” Castiel trails off, a thought occurring. “Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

“Does Dean think I’m in a relationship with Mary?”

“Um,” Charlie says.

Castiel has to grip the edge of the table underneath him, what with the world seemingly tilting abruptly. “He must. Because you don’t know me and never met me before tonight, so you wouldn’t jump to that conclusion unless someone told you about it.” He swallows. “I see.”

“Cas, I—” Charlie jumps when her clutch vibrates. She fumbles for it, hissing, “Oh my God, seriously?”

“I need to, uh…” Castiel stands up and tries to ignore his sudden dizziness. “I’m going to excuse myself. It was very nice meeting you, Charlie, I hope that… Never mind. Good night.”

“Wait, wait.” Charlie reaches for him, just stopping him before he can head out the door. “Can I tell Dean about this? He and Sam—”

Castiel inhales sharply, realizing that the belief must have been shared by Sam and Jess as well.

“—I think they should know,” Charlie says.

“Why?” Castiel asks sharply. “So they can stop thinking poorly of their mother?”

Charlie double-takes. “It’s not… I…”

“This came from somewhere. Mary and I may be close, but I know we didn’t do anything inappropriate. And even if we _were_ in a relationship, there’s nothing wrong with that because we’re both adults and – and the monetary portion of that relationship would be our own business and no one else’s.”

He knows that it isn’t Charlie’s fault, and that she doesn’t deserve to be berated like this. But Castiel is _angry_ , and worse than that, he’s _offended_ , and he doesn’t do well with that particular combination. Castiel may be used to missing something vital in the goings-on around him, but never in a setting like this, when all his usual defenses have been set aside for the sake of the friendship he’s made with Mary. He’s been trying to just be _himself_ , without pretense or concern of other people’s opinions the way that has guided his actions for too long, and yet he’s _still_ seen wrongly?

More than that – Mary’s been brought into it.

“Tell them if you want,” Castiel says. “I don’t care.” He bids Charlie farewell and takes his leave before he can say something else that she doesn’t deserve.

He walks towards the stairs with a mild headache, probably caused by the too many thoughts crowding for attention. Castiel had known that his presence caused friction among the Winchesters, but he hadn’t expected it to take this form. Most annoying of all, he actually feels _guilty_ about having a hand in it, knowing how strongly the ghost of John lives among the Winchesters.

Then there’s Dean. This explains everything: all his discomfort, all his anger, all those times where he refused to look at Castiel. Castiel doesn’t know which angle to focus on first: the sadness of Dean getting upset over the idea of his mother starting a new relationship, the inability of the Winchesters to just _talk it out_ , or the apparent fact that Dean thinks of him as—

Castiel’s foot slips on one of steps, though he catches himself on the bannister. He takes a handful of deep breaths, trying to calm his heart. Truly, this explains everything.

The best thing would be to go to sleep, but if he was agitated before, that is nothing compared to his state of mind now. He won’t be able to sleep for hours, if at all, so why not clear at least one thing up? What does Castiel have to lose? After tomorrow he won’t see Dean in any meaningful capacity again, and even if he does, the chance of Castiel getting to actually be _with_ Dean has dropped to less than zero. He might as well clear this one thing on his own terms, while he still can.

Finding Dean is surprisingly easy, considering the size of the house. Castiel moves through the party-goers with single-minded focus, moving through the patio and dining room before finding Dean in the lounge up front, chatting with someone while eating from a plate.

Castiel walks right up to him, decorum be damned. “Dean.” He ignores the way Dean jumps. “I need to speak to you right now, privately.” He can see Dean start to make excuses, so he adds, “Now.”

Dean’s companion is taken aback but moves away with a graceful nod of her head. As for Dean himself, his body language screams uninterested in taking the conversation anywhere else, for he’s still casually eating his damned dessert with his feet planted firmly right where he is. No one’s close enough to overhear, but if Dean thinks doing this in the relative open will make Castiel hold back, then he’s wrong.

“So, hey,” Dean says warily. “’Sup?”

For a second, Castiel wavers. Facing the man in person, Castiel is reminded of all his new memories that have Dean as its architect or focal point. Kindness is kindness, no matter what Dean’s intentions were, and Castiel will be grateful for that at the very least. Even now Dean’s obviously uncomfortable but still willing to listen to Castiel, when he knows others who would dismiss him with little effort. The anger in his gut dims a little, but only enough to make space for a hard knot of disappointment.

“I just wanted you to know,” Castiel says, keeping his voice down, “that I’m not a low-life who was on the verge of cheating on your mother.”

Dean double-takes. “What?”

“When I kissed you, I wasn’t cheating on your mother, because I’m not _in_ a relationship with your mother, and never was. I’m fine with you thinking anything else of me, but not that I would betray Mary in that way, or any way. I care for her a great deal.”

Dean’s face is… interesting. A number of emotions flicker over it one after another – confusion, discomfort, surprise, plus a flash of wide-eyed realization that has Dean freezing up like a statue. Castiel was waiting for that precise reaction, and nods with satisfaction when he sees it.

He turns to leave, but is stopped by Dean’s hand on his arm. He turns back, to where Dean is pale-faced and staring at him like he’s having a minor heart attack and unable to actually say anything but a choked rendition of Castiel’s name. Castiel feels a pang of sympathy at that, for he truly does like Dean, and knows that he’ll greatly miss being able to spend time with him. But this casts every single interaction they’ve had under a harsh new light, rendering Castiel’s joyful memories faulty in retrospect.

So it is with a heavy heart that Castiel carefully removes Dean’s fingers from his arm and says, “I’m not a toy to be shared among Winchesters either. I apologize if I ever gave you that impression.” That last bit sounded more scathing in his head but it just comes out exhausted.

Dean doesn’t try to stop him again, though Castiel stays in a daze the whole walk back to his room, where he throws himself on the bed, suit and all, and tries to will himself to not think about anything.


	12. there’s nothing left here to remind me, just the memory of your face

The next morning, Castiel’s first thoughts are filled with regret about missing Mary’s birthday celebrations so thoroughly. He’d wanted to ask her to point out to him various memorable relatives from her stories, or at the very least be there for the cake-cutting. Instead he’d missed her entirely, and only got to see her birthday dress from the pictures she’d sent to the chat group they share with Anna.

Yet even that regret doesn’t inspire Castiel to get up and mingle with the Winchester-Campbells. Mary’s mother and a handful of others should still be in the house, recovering from the party and preparing to make the group journey out later today. It would be polite of him to introduce himself, but not only is he feeling even less friendly than usual today, he’s also now privy to some brand new information as to how various people apparently view him.

Honestly, he doesn’t care if Mary’s friends, staff, or even extended relatives think they’re sleeping together – unless, of course, it affects how they view _Mary_. It occurs to Castiel that he probably should have warned Mary as soon as he found out, but he wasn’t thinking straight last night. For a moment Castiel considers not telling her at all, because it might ruin the upcoming Campbell gathering, but then he decides to hell with it.

Castiel gets up, brushes his teeth and has a shower, changes into his biking gear, then texts Mary. Borrowing a page from Dean’s book, Castiel climbs out the window and makes his way around the house (the opposite side of the patio, where they must be having breakfast) to the garage, where he waits.

He doesn’t have to wait long – only reading through a handful of news articles on his phone – before Mary shows up, bemused but cheerful about the unusual morning summons.

“Mary,” Castiel says, “I wish you a happy belated birthday, and I apologize for not more actively partaking in last night’s merriment.”

“That’s sweet,” Mary says with a laugh, “but you already wished me one, so no apologies necessary, plus I know very well that’s not your kind of merriment so, _hell_ , definitely no apologies necessary for that either. You saw my photos, right?”

“Yes, you were very lovely. I liked the selfie you had with Rowena.”

“Wait ‘til the official ones come in,” Mary says. “The photographer should be sending them today. And what is your agenda then?”

“I am going into town, and it’s likely I won’t return until after you’ve all left for your trip. So I wanted to say goodbye before you go off.”

Mary starts to frown, but quickly shakes her head. “That’s fine. Thanks for telling me.”

“I also wish to tell you something else.”

“Oh goodness,” Mary says with a relieved gasp, “is this something to do with my boys? They were acting so strange last night! Dean was, anyway.”

“Did he say anything?”

“No?” Mary sighs when Castiel makes a face. “What is it? Cas, are you angry?”

“I’m lots of things right now,” Castiel says slowly, “but mostly I’m trying to be a good friend. It came to my attention last night that your sons, and likely there are others, had assumed that you and I were having a relationship. Dating, or sleeping together, I’m not sure which one.”

“But that’s…” Mary’s face contorts. “But _John_.”

That’s not the reaction Castiel hoped for, but he clamps down his first response, which is to remind her that John has been dead for a while now. Instead, Castiel says gently, “We’re both conscious of how we make a strange pair, aren’t we?”

“But not like _that_ ,” Mary says in a low whisper. “It’s not like you’re the only man in the house, the only male staff I have. Are you sure about this?”

“Yes.”

“Positive?” Mary says, sounding upset. “My boys should know that I wouldn’t, you know, bang the freaking pool boy like every bad cliché. I know you’re not the literal pool boy, but it’s close enough. I wouldn’t put anyone in that position, that’s not right.”

“I’m sure they don’t mean it like that,” Castiel says. “But you’re a beautiful, intelligent woman, alone in this big house, surely it’s not too great a leap to the possibility of you wanting to bring someone new into your life?”

“I would tell them, though,” Mary says quietly. “I’d never even thought about – but if I did, I’d tell them.”

“Would you?”

“Of course! I _would_.” Mary inhales shakily when she reaches the conclusion that Castiel hoped he wouldn’t have to say out loud. “They don’t know that. They don’t know what I’d do if I wanted to…”

“I’m going to be candid now, because it’s been an eventful twelve hours, and I think this is my only chance to say this to you. I apologize in advance if any of it hurts.” Castiel swallows, a little uncertain now that he’s actually here, but with Mary watching him patiently, he finds the fortitude to press on. “You and your sons are so full of love for each other, and that is amazing beyond words. Your family is wonderful, which is why it hurts all the more to see you keeping your distance from each other for the sake of old of perceived hurts.”

Mary clenches her jaw, but nods at Castiel to continue.

“I’ve only been here a few weeks,” he says, “so I know that doesn’t make me an expert, but it looks to me like you’re all still hurting from losing John, just in different ways. I wouldn’t know the first thing about dealing with that, but I do know that I’d give anything to have a chance to talk to my father again, or even to my mother for the first time – if only to understand them better, and to understand myself.” Castiel looks at Mary hopefully. “You and your sons still have each other.”

“I know,” Mary says quietly. “I _know_. I’m afraid, I guess. I’d already made mistakes with John, I don’t want to do the same with my boys.”

“That is a reasonable fear, but at what cost?” Castiel takes Mary’s hand gently. “It is not mine to share, but I can tell you that Dean, at least, has fears of his own that he feels he shouldn’t burden you with.”

“Dean? He said that?”

“Not in those precise words.” Castiel is surprised when Mary comes in for a hug, though it’s a brief one, with Mary putting her arms around him and squeezing once before pulling back. Castiel stares at her, a little confused. “You’re welcome?”

“I’m just sorry about your family.”

“Oh, that’s—” Castiel coughs, flustered, “—I didn’t mean it as a _comparison_ , obviously your family dynamics are vastly different—”

“I know what you meant.” Mary pats his chin, then freezes. “This is weird, isn’t it? That I’ve been talking to you about all this as if I don’t have any other family to turn to.”

“I believe it’s because you appreciate my fresh perspective. And my card shark skills.”

Mary inclines her head. “That’s not incorrect.”

Castiel laughs. “All right, I’ve said my piece. I hope it helps.”

“Thank you,” Mary says. “You’ll still be around when I get back, right?”

“Yes, I believe so.” Castiel puts his helmet on and draws his bicycle away from the wall. “I do hope you enjoy your family trip. Take pictures. Captions optional, though I always enjoy your captions.”

Mary gins. “Definitely.”

As Castiel rides away from the house, it occurs to him that he might have brought up the part where he’s developed inconvenient feelings for Dean, but what would that accomplish? Mary had no hand in that and besides, what felt so important last night feels significantly less so this morning, after sleep has taken Castiel’s anger and exhaustion away. So Castiel had pinned his hopes on something that’s proven to have been flawed from the very start; live and learn, he tells himself.

Live and learn.

  


* * *

  


The house is quiet when Castiel returns, and stays quiet over the next two days. This is excellent, for Castiel gets to catch up on various tasks on his To-Do list: cleaning up Mary’s latest updates to her thesis, returning the materials on loan from the library, and making another sweep of the local periodicals from the past few weeks for anything relevant.

The quiet also means that Castiel has the privacy to get his thoughts in order. He thinks about Mary, and hopes that she’s taking advantage of the setting to clear the air with her family. He thinks about Dean, and hopes that with time, the tinge of humiliation cast over every single one of their past interactions will lose its sharpness.

One thing that Castiel does come to terms with relatively quickly, is that he can’t blame Dean and Sam for coming to the conclusions they did. After all, Castiel was aware from the very start that they would be defensive about their mother inviting a stranger into the house, and be concerned about said stranger’s intentions. Castiel may have missed a crucial aspect of their viewpoint, but the general effect remains the same – Castiel is an outsider, and they were right to be wary of him. If anything, it’s Castiel’s blind spot for sexual subtext that’s at fault here. This briefly has him wondering why _Mary_ didn’t pick up on it, yet he can’t blame her for that either, because she has blind spots of her own.

In fact, just staying in the Winchester house helps bring things into perspective. On the first morning after the Winchesters’ exit, Castiel has breakfast in the kitchen while Benny putters around him putting the place back in order. The catering crew may be good at clean-up, but Benny understandably wants to reclaim the area down to its final details.

So Castiel eats while Benny checks various cabinets and drawers, counting things under his breath wherever he goes. For the most part Castiel and Benny have given each other a wide berth, but now Castiel watches him do his thing with a critical eye. He notes that they’re not that far in age and physical capability, so why would anyone think it more likely that Mary would pursue a relationship with Castiel instead of Benny?

Obvious answer: Benny actually is full-fledged house staff, and though there are people out there with no qualms about crossing that line, Mary is not one of them. In comparison, Castiel occupies a grey area of not-quite-staff, and it’s obvious now that ‘not-quite-staff’ could be easily flipped into an excuse for his being invited to live here at all. And to outsider eyes – Dean and Sam’s, in particular – that grey area is still enough to put Mary into a place of power over Castiel, for this is her house, and it is by her leave that Castiel’s day-to-day needs are met. No matter what they thought of Castiel’s level of consent, they had to deal with their mother seeking out such an arrangement.

Knowing this information now, Castiel’s frankly impressed that Dean and Sam – especially Dean – reacted so mildly. The worst of Dean’s sins was to avoid eye contact and be occasionally sarcastic, and though Castiel hadn’t taken it personally at the time, his stomach churns now at the memory, for it’s possible that his reaction wasn’t about Castiel at all, but because Dean couldn’t express his discomfort to _Mary_.

Of course, this theory falls apart once Castiel takes into account Dean’s willingness to kiss him. Even with Dean’s admission of his past poor behavior, Castiel finds it difficult to imagine that Dean would take advantage of him, not after Dean’s making so many subtle gestures in making sure that Castiel was being treated all right in the house. Castiel’s powers of observation may be faulty but he _knows_ that Dean wasn’t faking being kind and considerate.

Perhaps they are two separate things. On the one hand, Dean was a welcoming host, and the connection that seemed like friendship was merely Dean being a decent human being to the person living in his mother’s house. On the other, separate hand, Dean’s a sexual person like many other sexual persons in the world that have physical drives that Castiel doesn’t fully understand the rules of, and just because Dean seemed to enjoy touching him that one time, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything except that Castiel was a willing body close by.

Castiel’s whole body may run hot whenever he thinks of Dean standing close, his eyes fixed on Castiel’s, but maybe to Dean it was just a regular Sunday night. Which is fine.

By the second day of the Winchesters’ exit, Castiel thinks he’s made peace with most of it, and even feels like he can face Dean again without feeling like a complete fucking idiot. Maybe making the forceful split from Michael and Luke (and Crowley and Roman) sapped out most of his lifetime’s reserves of righteous anger, which have yet to be restored. Or maybe just completely misreading the man he’d developed a crush on just feels so inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

Castiel even contemplates the possibility that he hadn’t _really_ wanted Dean, that it was just a flight of fancy he’ll laugh about soon enough. But then Mary starts sending photos of the family gathering to the shared group with him and Anna, and just a glimpse of Dean in the first picture has Castiel’s heart racing. He immediately scrolls through all the pictures to check if he’s in any of the others (he is) and then scrolls back to he can study each one carefully. It takes Castiel quite a while before he remembers that he’s supposed to be reading Mary’s text messages as well.

Meg finds Castiel like that, in the patio and hunched over his phone, and says, “You sure you don’t need glasses?”

“I probably do.” Castiel looks up, and forces his facial muscles to unclench. “I keep forgetting to go for a check-up.”

“Should put that down in one of your notebooks.” Meg adjusts the bucket under her arm and starts walking away, but pauses when Castiel calls out to her. “Yeah?”

“I was wondering,” Castiel says, realizing that he’s calm enough to talk about this now, “were you ever under the suspicion that Mary and I were… a thing?”

Meg’s upper lip curls. “You do know that that’s none of my business.”

“But did you ever _think_ it?”

“Would it make a difference whether I did or not?” For a second Meg seems uncomfortable, which is such a foreign look on her that Castiel perks up with interest. “Look, I may talk smack all the time, but I take my job seriously, and Mary Winchester has my deepest respect.”

Castiel nods. “Fair enough. I apologize for asking.”

“I will also tell you,” Meg continues, “that all of us who work here appreciate Mary as much as I do. So the bigger concern was whether you’d turn out to be a prick who’s after her money, or worse, a prick who’s out to make the Winchesters turn on each other. If you were, we’d consider making your life—”

“A living hell?”

“—mildly uncomfortable.” Meg raises an eyebrow. “I _am_ a professional, Cas.”

“Of course,” Castiel says, surprisingly heartened by Meg’s non-answer. “I’m also going to assume that all of you do gossip about the rest of us, but you know better than to share any of the details with me.”

Meg clucks her tongue. “That’s conjecture. Besides, you already know I think you’re a reasonably all right human being.”

That’s already a far more candid answer than Castiel actually expected from Meg, who gives him a salute before going off. Castiel looks back down at his phone, which is still showing a picture of a handful of Campbells wearing bright red polo shirts. He doesn’t know the others, but Mary’s on the right of the picture, her arm linked with Dean’s. Everyone is smiling.

Considering Meg’s earlier answers, there’s no way she’d offer a straight one if Castiel asked if she or any other staff noticed his crush on Dean. As curious as Castiel is, neither answer would help in any way. Besides, they probably see people fawning over Dean all the time, and they definitely would’ve seen Dean’s other actual partners and… Castiel would rather not know how he compares to them. It’s bad enough to know that Dean only ever bothered with Castiel because of his connection to Mary.

Yet, as Castiel resumes studying the pictures, he finds that he’s still terribly interested to know what’s happening with Dean – what he’s feeling in each picture, if he’s enjoying himself, if he knows that he missed that spot on his neck when he applied his sunblock. Mary’s text lists out some of the activities they’ve done so far, some of which have pictures (there’s one of Dean with shades and a bandanna tied over his hair, poised to throw a Frisbee as though the fate of the world depends on it), with promises to share the funnier stories in person.

Anna’s sent a reply already, with her observations of the games and some interested questions. Before Castiel can think about it too much, he plugs in a sun emoji and then types a quick: _Work hard for that trophy, you can do it! Tell Dean and Sam I said hello._

He presses send, takes a deep breath, and then carefully puts his phone away for his own peace of mind.


	13. take your passion and make it happen

On day three of the Winchesters’ being away, Castiel receives a call from Mary’s phone. It’s late in the morning, which means that Castiel’s hard at work in the study when he picks up and hears an unfamiliar voice saying, “ _Hello, hi, is this Cas?_ ”

“Yes, that’s me,” Castiel says. “Who is this?”

“ _Oh good, it’s Jess. Mary’s had a bit of an accident. She’s okay, but we need some help._ ”

“Of course. What do you need?”

“ _She fell during one of the activities, looks like a sprain but could be worse. We’re at the hospital now, and it looks like she’s going to need some extra clothes – the kind that’s easier to put on when you’ve got a foot injury? Flowy skirts, dresses, pants with elastic bands, those kinds of things._ ”

“I’ll have a bag put together. Anything else?”

“ _She said to bring her laptop as well, plus her external drive. She said that they should be in the topmost drawer at her desk, and the key is inside the wooden pencil holder. That should be it. I’m going to text you the address, so you can give everything to Benny, and if he can send it before the end of the day, that would be splendid._ ”

“Will do,” Castiel says. “Is she… How’s Mary’s spirits?”

“ _She’s a little shell-shocked, but she’s good. More annoyed than anything else, really. Especially with how the resort staff are a wee bit overenthusiastic in trying to be helpful._ ”

“I’d say so, she could sue their butts off.”

Jess sighs. “ _Doesn’t help we have like three lawyers in the family, one of them right here and with murder in his eyes, even. Anyway, let me know when Benny’s on the way, okay? Or tell him to buzz Mary’s number._ ”

It doesn’t take that long to get everything ready. It’s Meg’s day off but Pamela and Benny are around, so by lunchtime Benny has the Bentley warmed up and ready in front of the house, where the three of them load the vehicle with a suitcase of extra clothes (handpicked by Pamela), Mary’s computer bag, and a handful of books in case Mary needs entertainment.

The resort is only about two hours away, and the hospital a little closer than that. Benny knows the place, and is nice enough not to complain about having Castiel as a passenger. The way Castiel figures, Benny’s driving there and back _anyway_ , so what difference does it make if Castiel joins him?

It’s true that Jess only asked for the clothes and laptop, but Mary is Castiel’s friend, and there’s no way he’d turn down the opportunity to visit her after a goddamned _accident_ , because he’d much prefer to see for himself that she’s all right. Castiel’s youthful bike riding meant that he’d had his own share of bumps, bruises, and worse, and Jess’s description was vague enough to be frustrating. Not to mention that Anna would not be satisfied with a third-hand account of what’s happening.

Castiel’s worry turns out to be sadly valid, because by the time he gets to the hospital and locates the Winchester crew in the waiting area, it turns out that Mary has gone in for surgery. Only the three of them are here – Sam, Jess, and Dean – all of whom react with understandable surprise at the sight of him, though Jess recovers the quickest and jumps up to her feet to explain what’s happening.

“Not a sprain, then,” Castiel says.

Jess shakes her head. “She didn’t _seem_ in pain. I know that happens when you’re in shock, but… she really seemed fine.”

Castiel looks over at the Winchester brothers – Sam standing with his arms crossed like a vengeful sentinel, and Dean squeezed into a tiny plastic waiting chair – and says, “Are you planning to sue?”

“Mom said not to,” Sam says, though his tone reveals his disagreement with that.

“That liability waiver ain’t just gonna disappear,” Dean says with a frustrated sigh.

“Unless there was negligence involved,” Castiel points out.

“Mom says it was her fault,” Sam says. “Not that I would know. Me and Jess are on another team.”

“It was one of those jumping tasks, you know?” Dean says. “Like jumping jacks, from one spot to another, and she didn’t land right. Don’t know how else you wanna make it safe, unless no one can jump for anything ever.”

Castiel nods and – after checking with a passing nurse that it’s all right – takes out his phone and starts typing a message to Benny, letting him know that he’ll have to wait a while, at least until Mary comes out from surgery and she’ll decide what to do next. Another text message goes to Anna, explaining as concisely as he can what’s happened, and that he’ll share any further information he learns.

“Do you have a wheelchair at the house?” Castiel asks. “Maybe I’ll buy one downstairs. Actually, I should just check out what they actually have first.”

“Cas,” Dean says, “you don’t need to do that.”

“So you _do_ have a wheelchair?” Castiel asks.

“It’s very cool of you to come all this way,” Dean says. “Just… let’s just wait it out first, okay?”

“I’m going to get some coffee,” Jess says, picking up her backpack from the floor. “Call me if Mary comes out.”

Sam pushes himself off the wall and falls into step beside her. “Yeah, me too. Be right back.”

Castiel watches them go in bemusement, and then slowly turns back to Dean, who’s now covering his face with his hands. It’s almost funny to think that not too long ago Castiel would’ve happily spent all his remaining Winchester house days sequestered in his room if it meant that he wouldn’t have to look Dean in the face again. But having the past few days to clear his mind has helped tremendously.

If Castiel has the guts to walk away from his own brothers and the thriving financial career he’d spent years meticulously building up, then he should definitely have the guts to talk to Dean like a mature, rational adult (even if said guts flip a little in Dean’s presence).

Castiel sits down on one of the plastic chairs, a few seats away from Dean. “Did you enjoy the first few days, at least? Prior to Mary’s fall?”

“Uh, it was okay.” Dean finally pulls his hands away from his face, and scratches the back of his neck. “More intense than fun, sometimes.”

“Family competitiveness can do that.” Castiel turns back to his phone, and scrolls through to Anna’s reply. He types out an acknowledgement and sends it, just as Dean clears his throat, drawing Castiel’s attention back.

“So, um, hey,” Dean says. “I owe you an apology.”

“For?”

“You know,” Dean says, sheepish. “For jumping to conclusions about you and Mom.”

“It’s all right,” Castiel says, “I understand now how that happened. Though I’m grateful for and accept your apology. No hard feelings?”

Dean blinks rapidly, and sits up. “That’s – no, no, of course not.”

“Good,” Castiel says. “I’ve had some time to think about it and it’s just unfortunate that I didn’t pick up on the implications sooner. I never meant to make you and Sam uncomfortable that way.”

“I know you didn’t. Look I – Mom talked to us about this. I’m guessing you told her? Which is great, because I had no clue how to bring it up without sounding like a moron. I mean, I’m _still_ a moron, but…”

“It’s easier for your mother to bring up the topic, rather than you having to confess?”

Dean nods. “Yeah, that. Never quite got the hang of making an ass of myself on purpose.”

Castiel shakes his head, amused. “Even so, I’m glad to hear that you’ve been able to open a dialogue. That’s all I really wanted for all of you.”

Dean sighs. “Cas.”

“What?”

“Are you really not mad? ‘Cause I totally understand if you still are, ‘cause I deserved that.”

“I’m not angry.” Castiel’s stomach clenches when Dean’s face contorts in exasperation. “Dean, I promise I’m being truthful. I _was_ angry, but not anymore. Anger takes up a lot energy, and I don’t think I’m cut out for that anymore. Luke once described me as an anger-powered locomotive. I actually took it as a compliment at the time.”

Dean cocks his head. “What were you angry at?”

“Inefficiency, mostly. Other people not living up to the standards I put on myself. It’s a form of narcissism, I believe.”

“Sounds like a recipe for high-blood pressure.”

“Hence the better eating now,” Castiel says. “And the exercise.”

Dean blinks. “Huh. That’s… that’s interesting.”

“I suppose. But the bottom line is, I may be capable of holding grudges, but in this case there’s simply no point, so I’m not. Your concern for Mary came from a place of love, and I respect that.”

“ _No_.” Dean glances around quickly, and lowers his voice, “I mean, I get what you’re saying, but it wasn’t just about me and Mom. It’s also about me and you.”

A flash of panic has Castiel’s chest constricting, but he manages to say, “It’s all right. As I said, no hard feelings.”

“No, no, I need to explain,” Dean says, which is of course just perfect, because the one time that Castiel expected the Winchester motto of _not talking about it_ to actually kick in for all their sakes (and Castiel’s dignity) Dean’s apparently decided to go against the grain. “Cas, I really like you.”

If Castiel weren’t internally squirming, he might be able to say thank you or that’s nice. As it is, he can only stare at Dean with a pinched expression.

“Wait, listen.” Dean scoots along the row of chairs, stopping only when there’s one just empty chair between them. “When you first came to the house, yes, I was suspicious and defensive. I didn’t get why she didn’t tell us about you, or why you _had_ to move into the house, as if she had like, something to hide. I mean, every time I thought maybe I was just imagining you two being – you know, _that_ – there’d be something like, how you kept holding hands, or how Mom got so weird when I asked how you became friends, or that time when Rowena came over I overheard her hinting at Mom that she should start dating again and Mom said something like that that’s not necessary, ‘cause she already had you. I know that was a joke _now_ , but it’s – you can see how I didn’t get that at the time, right?”

Castiel nods slowly. “You don’t need to defend your stance, Dean. I understand.”

“But it’s not just that,” Dean says. “It’s worse than that, ‘cause when I started to maybe get used to the idea of Mom dating again, there were other things that I couldn’t… Like I didn’t understand why she seemed to be hiding you not just from me and Sam, but from her friends and the rest of the family like you were… like this was a thing to be ashamed about.”

“You tried to make up for that by being nice and spending time with me. I noticed.”

“You noticed?” Dean says weakly.

“I chalked it up to you being a good host. Or just feeling sorry for me for being cooped up in your lovely, luxurious home. I think that was decent of you.”

“It’s _not_ ,” Dean snaps. “Okay, sure, a part of it was to make sure you were okay, but I was also – I wanted to know what kind of person you were.”

“I noticed that, too. Like I said, your behavior was a reasonable response to a stranger moving into your family home.”

“Did you notice how much I enjoyed spending time with you?” Dean laughs a little too loudly, his hands twitching in his lap. It occurs to Castiel that Dean is actually, legitimately nervous. “You’re so – it’s easy to talk to you. It was fun to hang out together, wasn’t it?”

It’s probably a lost cause for Castiel to try calming his rapidly-beating heart. “I figured you’re like that with everyone,” he admits.

“Hah!” Dean shakes his head. “After a while I gave up trying to convince myself I was just doing all of it for you, or even for Mom. I wanted to spend time with you for _me_. Do you know how much it messes with your head to be jealous of your own _mom_? It’s not fun, I can tell you that.”

“Jealous?” Castiel echoes.

“Stupidly jealous. I kept telling myself that this was good, that you being so – so _you_ – meant that I didn’t have to worry about Mom. You were great, you cared so much about her, you’d obviously take care of her and – and…” Dean looks down at the floor and laughs again. “I wanted so much to be happy for her. I mean, it’s not anyone’s fault I’m a doofus who falls for people I can’t have.”

Castiel swallows thickly.

“But I’m not—” Dean holds his hands out, supplicating, “—I’m not saying all of this ‘cause I’m trying to pressure you, or angling to change your mind. I know you don’t – I don’t expect anything _from_ you, really. I just wanted you to know that I think you’re pretty awesome, and I never for one second thought that you were… that you’d… that you were a thing to be shared.”

Castiel believes him. His ears are buzzing and he’s a little bit dizzy, but he believes Dean. It would be nice if Castiel could say something at this point to show his appreciation and gratitude for the effort, but his brain’s snagged on a particular thread that has him blurting out, “Then why did you let me kiss you?”

“I forgot about the… other thing.” Dean winces. “I don’t know, sometimes my brain just hiccups and forgets, so every so often you’d randomly stop being Mom’s guy in my head, and just be… a guy. Just Cas.”

“And you like Cas,” Castiel says.

Dean starts in surprise, and smiles. “Yeah. I think Cas is pretty great.”

Despite his sincerity, Castiel thinks Dean’s not being entirely honest. He just said that he doesn’t expect anything from Castiel, but there’s a touch of hope in the way he’s watching Castiel now. Castiel’s seen this look of fondness before, but hadn’t drawn the right conclusion from it then.

There was a point in time not too long ago, just after Castiel noticed his attraction to Dean, when the course of action seemed perfectly clear. Castiel knew he couldn’t do anything about his feelings because he hadn’t any clue of Dean’s own thoughts, plus it felt inappropriate in light of Castiel’s living in Mary’s house and working for her. The first portion of that is now mostly resolved, and the second portion feels rather irrelevant now that they’re far away from the Winchester house.

This places the ball in Castiel’s court now. Unfortunately, even with all the introspection Castiel’s been doing over the past few days, he hadn’t afforded any thought whatsoever to the possibility that Dean might actually _like_ him.

At last Castiel says, “I think you’re pretty great, too.” He winces, though Dean’s smile just broadens. “I mean – I, too, have enjoyed your company a great deal.”

“I getcha.” Dean holds his hand out. “You know I never introduced myself properly? Hey, I’m Dean.”

Castiel smiles and takes Dean’s hand, shaking it firmly and not at all holding it for longer than is appropriate. “Hello, Dean. I’m Castiel, though you may call me Cas. Thank you for telling me all of this. I know it can be difficult to express these internal things effectively. It leaves you feeling vulnerable, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Dean shrugs. “Yeah, I know I gotta work on that.”

“All of us do,” Castiel says. “I’ve had trouble expressing myself to my siblings, my co-workers… I think it’s one of the many reasons I stuck with things that made me unhappy for so long.”

“Hey.” Dean holds out his fist, which Castiel belatedly bumps his own fist against. “I definitely feel you on that.”

“You do, don’t you?” Castiel says in wonder. He abruptly recalls how, in the first few days of his knowing Dean, he’d thought that they might find some common ground together, though he hadn’t cared much when Dean didn’t seem interested. It’s fascinating how much that’s changed, not only with Castiel’s new understanding of how deep that common ground may actually _be_ , but also by how much Castiel would now treasure the opportunity, and regret losing it.

“Dean, about what happened in the game room, I… I’ve never been with—” Castiel gestures at him. “It’s all new, I wasn’t ready.”

“Oh,” Dean says, surprised. “Oh man, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, I kissed you first. I enjoyed it and I wanted it, but after a point it got overwhelming, and I realized that I didn’t know what I was doing, and I couldn’t—”

“Dude.” Dean reaches over and squeezes Castiel’s arm comfortingly. “Don’t feel bad, okay? I should’ve – both of us should’ve talked about it first.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says, still shame-faced despite Dean’s understanding. It was easy to talk to Dean before, and beyond frustrating that he’s having trouble with it now. With Dean actually open to their spending more time together (exciting!), Castiel should be grabbing this opportunity by the horns instead of waffling around with awkward half-sentences. Dean seemed to appreciate his bluntness before, so Castiel really should not be so nervous about ruining the moment – except that it is terribly easy to ruin the moment, seeing as how he’s done it before.

“It was confusing for me, to be drawn to you,” Castiel says. “I don’t know you that well but I want to so much, and that – that yearning felt like a desire for friendship, because it _had_ to be friendship I wanted, right? Because I’d never been drawn to a man before like this.”

Dean’s expression doesn’t change, but the tips of his ears go pink. “Yeah, I feel you.”

“You want things, I think. Relationship things.”

“Whoa, I just said, I’d never ever pressure you—”

“That doesn’t matter,” Castiel says, waving it off. “I’m going to tell you what I realized _I_ wanted. I want to spend time with you, to listen to you talk, to laugh with you and play games with you and maybe comfort you when you’re feeling bad.”

“All of that sounds pretty good. And I’m totally down for doing the same for you.”

“But you can do that as friends, right?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“But not the touching part, I think,” Castiel says. “It’s inappropriate to want to touch your friends all the time, isn’t it?”

Dean coughs. “I guess it depends on the kind of friendship.”

“Is your friendship with Charlie like that?”

“I don’t… think so?”

“Would you be content if _I_ wanted a friendship like that? Where I would be your friend who has permission to touch your facial hair?”

Dean blinks. “You want to touch my face?”

“Very much,” Castiel says. “And your shoulders, and hands, and… a lot of other places. Would you be all right with us being friends, yet I can do all of that?”

“You know, I was gonna ask if this is a trick question, but then I remembered who I’m talking to.”

“Why would this be a trick question?”

Dean laughs – a genuine laugh this time, easy and joyful – and he smacks Castiel’s shoulder lightly with the backs of his fingers. Castiel feels that familiar press of pleasure thicken inside his chest, and it doesn’t diminish even when Dean admits, “That would be weird. If we were just friends.”

“I thought so,” Castiel says. “That’s a problem.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Is it?”

“Can I touch your face right now?”

“I don’t know, man, sounds pretty intimate.”

“It is,” Castiel admits. “I guess I wouldn’t be content with just being friends.”

Dean swallows. “You can touch my face right now. If you want.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. “I just want to make sure you understand the subtext of my request.”

“Touch my goddamned face, Cas!” Dean rolls his eyes when Castiel laughs. “Look, I totally want to be with you, and you totally want to be with me, and if we’re actually dating, you get dibs on pawing my mug.”

“Your eyelashes are golden under sunlight.” Castiel moves over by one seat, so their knees touch. “It’s quite mesmerizing. It’s not awkward for me to say that, is it?”

“Nah.” Dean grins. “I never knew I could be jealous of playing cards until I met you and those hands of yours. That makes it fair, right?”

“I’d say so,” Castiel says weakly. He retains enough sense of mind to carefully rest his fingers on either side of Dean’s chin, and then slowly slides them down with the grain. He does that one more time and turns his hands, cupping the shape of Dean’s jaw, and then drags his fingertips underneath Dean’s chin, near his neck. Dean’s facial hair is a little less coarse than Castiel’s, and it tickles Castiel’s palms in interesting ways. Dean’s freckles are most obvious around his nose but they are everywhere, dotting the space around his mouth, near his eyes, between the hairs of his chin.

“How’s that?” Dean says quietly.

Castiel realizes that he’s so close that he can feel the breath of Dean’s words when they’re spoken. He raises his eyes to Dean’s in surprise, though it’s crystal clear that Dean doesn’t mind. In fact, Dean seems amused and very much appreciative of the view. Castiel realizes with a start how much he wants Dean to be comfortable and at ease around him – just like this. Exactly like this.

“It’s nice,” Castiel says.

“Nice?” Dean turns his mouth downward into an exaggerated frown. “That all you got, Cas?”

Castiel raises his eyebrows. “This is hardly the occasion to challenge me, Dean. You blush at the slightest provocation.”

“I – no, I don’t.”

“Really?” Castiel trails one finger down the side of Dean’s neck, underneath his ear, which as a result has Dean’s face going beet red.

“Okay, that’s just mean. You can’t—” He stops and sits up sharply, eyes widening at something behind Castiel. “Oh, hey, yeah, hey.” Castiel takes his hands away and turns around, just as Dean says, “Is my mom all right?”

Standing behind Castiel is a nurse, who says, “Yes, the surgery went well. Would you like to see her now?”

Dean gets to his feet, and Castiel joins him. “Yeah, definitely, let’s go.”

  


* * *

  


They recall Sam and Jess from their coffee break and head up to Mary’s room, where she’s tired but raring to go. The procedure went well, meaning that it’s likely that she’ll be discharged in a few hours. Dean and Sam argue against it, wanting her to stay overnight just to be sure, but Mary’s not interested.

“I can rest at the hotel,” Mary says, “and after that I can rest at home. Francine says it’s fine.”

The nurse nods. “You just need to take it easy, take your medication, and come back for physical therapy.”

“See,” Mary says. “Look, I’m embarrassed enough as it is. I’m supposed to bring home a trophy, not a busted tendons.”

“You can still bring back a trophy,” Castiel says.

“Cas!” Dean exclaims.

“Well, she can,” Castiel says, “if the rest of her team does well without her.”

“I did sabotage the blue team by taking two of their members,” Mary says, inclining her head at Sam and Jess – the former gasps in mock outrage, while the latter laughs. “If I can be discharged, I’d very much prefer to be. If all of you wish to help, you may do so by making my trip back to the resort as comfortable as possible.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to just go home?” Sam asks.

“I’d like to spend more time with my mother before she has to go back.” Mary raises an eyebrow. “ _If_ that’s all right with all of you.”

The nurse leaves, which just prompts Dean and Sam to try to argue their point further. Meanwhile, Castiel uses his phone to take a picture of Mary’s bandaged foot and send it to Anna. By the time Anna’s replied, the Winchesters have moved on to the next discussion, which is about what changes are necessary at the house to accommodate Mary’s newest injury. Castiel takes the spare chair next to Mary’s bed and sits down, exchanging a smile with her as he does.

“Thank you for coming, Cas,” Mary says. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” Castiel reaches for Mary’s hand, and is surprised when she flinches. “I… thought that was cleared up?”

“Well, yes,” Mary says, discomfited, “but, I don’t know…”

“It’s all right, I understand,” Castiel says, nodding. “Dean?”

“Yeah?” Dean says.

“Hold your mother’s hand for me.” Castiel keeps his expression perfectly placid even when Mary and the others burst into good-natured laughter. Dean comes over to stand by Castiel, and takes Mary’s right hand in his, squeezing gently.

Mary makes a face at both of them. “Okay, this is far less awkward than I was worried it would be.”

“Me and Cas had a chat just now,” Dean says. “It was good.”

“I didn’t get to speak to Sam and Jess, though,” Cas says. “Are we all… all right?”

Dean sighs. “Sam’s on me. I’m the one who convinced him about my dumb conspiracy theory.”

“It wasn’t dumb,” Mary says.

“And I _did_ buy it,” Sam admits. “Which is my own fault. I’m sorry, Cas. I should’ve tried to get to know you better, no matter what.”

Jess raises her hands in surrender. “I was totally a bystander through the whole thing.”

“One day we’ll all look back on this and laugh,” Mary says. “Preferably once my foot is better.”

“Right, back to that,” Dean says. “Should I tell Pam to set up one of the downstairs bedrooms for you? Bring all your stuff down?”

Mary shakes her head. “Let me worry about that.”

“But—”

“Dean,” Mary says. “Let’s take it one step at a time. I don’t even know what my range of movement is yet, and I don’t want to give Pam and the others extra work for no reason. As soon as I figure out what I need, I’ll tell you. How’s that?”

“You _will_ tell us, though?” Dean says.

“Yes, Dean,” Mary says. “I will.”

“Because you didn’t say anything last time when you hurt your—”

“Yes, I know!” Mary sighs, sheepish at her own outburst. “I know.”

“Can we do something for you _now_?” Dean asks. “I mean… The foot’s still got to be a bummer.”

Mary thinks. “Ice-cream would be nice?”

Hanging out with the Winchesters isn’t a hardship (the ice-cream they manage to procure is a bonus) so Castiel stays at the hospital just a little longer, until Mary’s given the A-okay and discharged after one final check.

It’s almost dinnertime by then, so Mary asks her boys to hurry it up in getting back to the resort. It’s lucky that they came here in Sam’s SUV, for it has more than enough space for Mary to stretch out in the back. Benny also brings the Bentley out to meet them in front of the hospital, to hand over Mary’s clothes and laptop, and offer his own sympathy for the accident.

It’s while Sam and Benny are carefully lifting Mary into the SUV that Castiel goes over to stand by Dean and says, “May I have your cellphone number?”

Dean starts. “What? Yeah man, of course.” They exchange numbers, and Castiel snaps a quick candid of Dean to use as his profile photo, waving away Dean’s offer to pose for a better one.

“Travel safe,” Castiel says.

Behind Dean, Sam closes Mary’s door and walks around to car to get into the driver’s seat. Despite Mary’s accident, this feels like a good day, especially since Castiel can step a little closer to Dean and – after raising his eyebrows in question and getting Dean’s acquiescing nod – put a hand on Dean’s chest. Castiel’s conscious of the others but happy to follow Dean’s lead, and as of right now Dean’s eyes are calm and clear as they observe Castiel standing in front of him. Well, Dean _seems_ calm, but the strong palpitations under Castiel’s palm tell a different story.

“I’ll text you, all right?” Castiel then leans forward and – ignoring Dean’s sharp inhale – presses a kiss to Dean’s cheek. “I hope you’ll text me, too.”

Dean shakes his head and says quickly, “Hey, wait, here’s a better idea.”

“I think my idea is pretty good already.”

“Hear me out,” Dean says with a laugh. “Me, Sam and Jess will be around, but I’m getting the feeling that Mom will want us to get back into the games, which means she won’t have help.”

“I’m sure the resort can assist in getting a temporary helper.”

Dean makes a face. “Cas.”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Do you want to join us? It’d be cool if you join us.”

“To take care of Mary?” Castiel asks.

“Okay, fine.” Dean clears his throat. “Honestly? I just want to spend time with you. Like, _really_ spend time with you, now that I don’t have to worry about… things that only existed in my head. I’d like to get to know you, Cas.”

Castiel wants to say that there’s plenty of time for that later, plus they can text each other now. But truth be told, he understands exactly what Dean means, because he knows that if he returns to Mary’s house it’s unlikely he’ll be able to focus efficiently on work. It’s bad enough that he’s staying in the room that once belonged to Dean; what else will Castiel be tempted to do around the house in order to glean precious knowledge of the man? Something embarrassing, probably.

“Ask your mother,” Castiel says.

“Ask my mother what? Oh – _oh_ , if you can? Right, okay!” Dean bounds off to do just that, while Castiel stands back and contemplates the strange turns of his life. A part of him is understandably wary, considering his past history and the potential of this going bad and destroying not only his friendship with Dean, but with Mary as well.

Yet, there was a reason Castiel left his old trappings behind in pursuit of the new. _This_ is definitely new.

“Hey, it’s cool!” Dean yells from the SUV. Sam says something that Castiel can’t really hear, but it earns a sharp, “Shut your face,” from Dean.

Castiel looks over at Benny, who’s watching the whole thing with an air of amusement.

“Sorry,” Castiel says. “Looks like I’m going to follow them to the resort.”


	14. don’t need no credit card to ride this train

The Campbells haven’t _completely_ taken over Hill Country Resort, but it certainly feels that way when Castiel gets there and finds a dinner party well under way. The resort itself is a sprawling estate consisting of low, interconnected buildings, one of which functions as a restaurant and is currently ground zero for a raucous party.

Castiel watches with interest as Jess wheels Mary into the open-air dining area like a guest of honor, Sam following close like a bodyguard making sure that her foot is given a wide berth. It seems like a bad idea to come here first instead of heading straight for their lodgings, but Mary was insistent that she at least make an appearance after all the hullaballoo caused by her fall.

Most of the faces here tonight are foreign, owing to Castiel’s lack of participation in Mary’s birthday dinner. The few that Castiel does recognize he only knows because of the photos Mary’s shared. There must be something like thirty or forty people in all, which means that Castiel has quite a bit of memorizing to do.

Castiel starts to turn to ask Dean for help, but is stopped when a young woman with dark hair steps up to him, eyeing him critically. “Don’t think I’ve met you before. Dean, is this the new boyfriend?”

Castiel holds his hand out. “I’m Cas.”

“Gwen.” She shakes his hand. “What’s ‘Cas’ short for? Cassidy? Casanova?”

“Cassette,” he says. “It’s French.”

Gwen stares, and then bursts out laughing when she sees Castiel’s mouth quirk slightly. “Okay, yeah, good one,” she says. “I deserved that.”

“You sure did,” Dean says, moving close to Castiel’s side. Castiel does not jump at the slight touch of Dean’s hand on his lower back. “Be nice.”

“I’m always nice.” Gwen looks from Dean to Castiel and back. “Your children will have beautiful cheekbones.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says. “As I am sure yours have lovely eyes.”

Gwen laughs and wanders off, while Dean makes an annoyed sound under his breath. Castiel shakes his head and says, “No, that was pleasant, she introduced herself. You should introduce me to others.”

“You want to meet _more_?” Dean says in disbelief. “Really?”

“Why not?”

“It’s, you know… It can be a lot to take in at once.”

“I won’t be intimidated by your extended family, Dean. No more than I was intimidated by you.”

Dean blinks. “Point. I guess I had the feeling that you’re not a fan of crowds?”

“It depends on my mood,” Castiel admits. “If I’m not feeling up for it, it can be overwhelming, but this is your family, Dean. Of course I’m interested.”

Dean looks at Castiel thoughtfully. “Would I be a heel if I said I’d rather you be interested in me?”

“Oh, Dean,” Castiel says. “You’re the most interesting of all.”

Dean beams, but then grimaces and shakes his head. “Oh my god, I’m so easy.”

“You are not.” Castiel bumps his arm against Dean’s, and is surprised when Dean loosely links his arm in Castiel’s.

“But there’s also your…” Dean leans close and lowers his voice. “How’re you feeling about being recognized? Crowley was a fluke, but we got a couple of Wall Street cousins here. Would that be a problem?”

“It might,” Castiel says. “Though that’s something I’d have to deal with eventually, so it might as well be now, if it happens.”

Dean starts in surprise. “You sound pretty calm about that.”

“It helps that the worst has already happened. Well, I’m sure there are worse things, but you finding out that way was reasonably high on that list.”

“You can talk about it with me,” Dean says. “If you want.”

Castiel smiles at him. “I’d like that.”

They only stay there long enough for Mary to assure everyone that she’s all right, and to arrange for dinner to be sent to their rooms. Castiel wouldn’t mind staying longer to get to know the rest of the group, but there’s time for that later, plus there’s the very exciting new development where Castiel has permission to ask Dean even _more_ questions, instead of merely wondering from afar about the inner workings of his mind (among other things).

Castiel follows the group down to their small private villa, because apparently they’d requested one instead of staying in the main building with most of the others. It’s a pretty nifty place to relax, with its own living area, dining and kitchen area, plus a private pool outside that shielded by a privacy fence from the golf course. Mary and Dean have their own rooms on the lower floor, while Sam and Jess have taken the master bedroom on the smaller upper floor.

“There’s one extra room,” Dean says, after giving Castiel a brief tour of the place. “It’s a bit smaller than the others—”

“It’s fine,” Castiel says. “I’m more concerned about my lack of luggage.”

“I got that covered,” Dean says. He leaves Castiel in the living room to read through the resort’s brochure, and returns with an armful of clothes and toiletries scrounged up from elsewhere in the building. “Now before you say I’m being forward, I’ll have you know that Sam contributed a few things, too.”

Castiel nods. “It’s only fair.”

The landing of the second floor overlooks the living room, and from somewhere up there, Jess’ voice rings out: “I offered! But I got vetoed.”

Mary is over by the dining table fiddling with her phone, and looks up to say, “I could join you shopping tomorrow? There’s a mall nearby.”

“No, you’re going to rest,” Castiel says.

“I _would_ be resting,” Mary says. “You’re the one who’ll be shopping, I’m just keeping you company.”

“I’ll post pictures,” Castiel says.

“I can go with you,” Dean says.

“No,” Castiel says, “you’re going to participate in your family activities and ensure that your team wins. For Mary’s sake.”

“Exactly,” Mary says.

Everyone is tired from the long day, so dinner is brief, though still enjoyable. Castiel keeps an eye on Mary throughout, though everyone else is just as attuned to her, and helpful when she finally begs off for the night. Sam and Jess go off to help Mary get settled in her room, which leaves Dean alone with Castiel at the dining table.

“So,” Dean says, smiling. “How’re you doing there, Cas?”

“Pretty well, all things considered. How are you doing?”

“Significantly better than I was this morning. You know, aside from the… the thing where I thought you’d never want to have anything to do with me again, I was kinda worried about you, and bummed I couldn’t actually do anything to help out.”

“Help out with what?” Castiel says curiously.

“Well, I can see why you’d find working on Mom’s thesis helpful and good for the spirit, but it’s not really a long-term thing, you know? I know it took _me_ a hell of a lot of time to figure out what I wanted to do and…”

Castiel nods. “You want to help people. Regardless of whether they’re in salacious relationships with your mother.”

Dean laughs, shaking his head. “Okay, yeah, it feels good that I actually _can_ laugh at that now. But basically, yeah, I want to… I know how crappy it is to have something you thought was important, and realize that it’s not important anymore. It throws everything out of whack, and I, uh… I guess when that happened to me there was like a stretch of time where I wasn’t even sure…” He trails off, conscious of Sam and Jess’s return to the room. “She good?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, “she’s as comfortable as we can manage. Thank goodness they really came through with the stack of extra pillows.”

“Made sure her phone was nearby, too,” Jess says. “In case she needs to call any of us.”

“Okay, so we’re gonna call it a night,” Sam says, moving to the stairs. “Better bring your A-game tomorrow, Red.”

“Back atcha, Blue.” Dean waits for them to ascend and disappear from view, and turns back to Castiel. “What was I saying?”

Castiel shifts his chair closer to Dean’s. “There was a stretch of time.”

“Right. So there was a stretch where I wasn’t entirely sure who I was, ‘cause I’d spent so much time being a two-faced jackass. I had to take a time-out, clear my head.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” Castiel says. “At least, partially.”

“Partially?”

“I’m trying to unlearn a lot of habits and attitudes. It’s less about trying to get to know myself, and more about searching for a better version of myself. I’m trying to manage my temper, to see the best in people instead of assuming the worst, that sort of thing. It doesn’t come as easily as it used to.”

“Used to?”

“I remember being… better,” Castiel says thoughtfully. “When I was younger.”

“When you were tight with Anna.”

“Yes, that’s right. It’s hard to say exactly how that changed, it was such a gradual process. I can’t entirely blame my older brothers’ influence for that either, because they provided an outlet for something that I felt I needed.”

“Were you feeling inadequate, maybe? I hear that that can be an issue with twins.”

Castiel looks at Dean in surprise. “I didn’t think of that angle, there might be something to that. Anna was always so sure of herself – well, she always _seemed_ to be so sure of herself, though of course now I’m aware there’s always more to it than that. I do remember becoming conscious of how different we were growing up, but I only registered it in the sense that I didn’t want to be like her.”

“Why not?”

“She didn’t stress out about the future the way I did,” Castiel says. “At least, that’s how it looked to me. I remember being scared from early on about what would happen to us – to me – when our father died.”

“Dude,” Dean says. “You were worried about that from when you were a kid?”

“We’d already lost our mother,” Castiel says. “It was very plausible.”

“But didn’t your father try to…” Dean shakes his head. “Sorry. Of course you’d be worried about losing him.”

“That fear expressed itself as a desire for control over my own life. It’s not so much about meeting expectations placed upon me, as in your case. I doubt there _were_ any expectations on me.”

“Makes sense,” Dean says. “Could you tell me about your brothers? I’m curious, man.”

They talk well into the night, over their empty plates and through clearing up the dining room and while sharing drinks from the complimentary minibar. The dining room doesn’t have the most comfortable seats so they move to the living area, Castiel tucked in a corner of the couch and Dean right up next to him, their arms and knees touching.

“So no pets in your family either, eh,” Dean’s saying. “Sammy always wanted a dog, but the timing was never right for it. When he finally was old enough to take care of one himself he went off to boarding school.”

“Why doesn’t he have one now?” Castiel asks.

“He volunteered for an animal shelter for quite a few years, before his current job started eating into his free time even more. I guess that scratched that itch for him? How about you?”

“We had rats, for a while,” Castiel says. “Two beautiful brown rats, Lorem and Ipsum. Anna picked them but they were our pets together. I believe Luke had a cat for a while when I was younger, but that’s only because I’ve seen her in pictures, I don’t actually remember anything about her.”

“You could get a pet now, if you wanted.”

“I think I’d have to worry about getting my own place first.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess. Hey you know, I was wondering… _Your_ name is Castiel, which is kinda not very usual, but then your sister’s name is Anna? I mean, I _like_ your name, Castiel—” Dean blinks when Castiel shivers a little at the careful pronunciation of the syllables in his name, “—but it’s kinda fancy in comparison, I guess?”

Castiel nods. “My sister’s name is actually ‘Anna-Maria’. Does that make for a better pair with ‘Castiel’?”

“Huh.” Dean nods. “Yeah. It does. So she shortens it to Anna, and you become Cas.”

“That’s actually a recent development. People have called me Cas here and there, but for most of my adult life I’d preferred Castiel, or just Milton – if my brothers weren’t around.”

Dean grins. “So _do_ you like being called Cas? ‘Cause it sounds like you don’t, and you only took it on so people couldn’t google you.”

“I like it now,” Castiel admits. “It was strange at first, and in the first few weeks I still had that reflex to correct people, but it wore off.”

“So,” Dean says slowly, “it’s done a 180 then. You’re so used to being called ‘Cas’ now that it raises an alarm when someone calls you ‘Castiel’.”

Castiel shifts against the cushions. They’ve been sitting close for a while and Castiel hasn’t really cared about how Dean’s arms are slung along the back of the couch aside from how they put his arms and chest on display, but Castiel’s just then aware that this position allows Dean to brush his fingers at the back of Castiel’s neck. It seems to be an accident at first, but then the touch returns, light and curious, his fingertips tapping in time with the syllables of Dean’s saying, “Cas-tee-el,” again.

“Dean,” Castiel says with a sigh.

“What? It’s a cool name.”

“Your name’s cool, too.” Castiel just barely stops himself from tugging at his collar. He’s abruptly aware of Dean’s knee pressed against his, how easy it would be for Castiel to swing his legs up onto Dean’s lap. Dean would probably let him. “What time is it?”

Dean cranes his neck lazily towards a wall clock, and then jumps. “Fuck me, it’s almost two. Dammit, I’m gonna be screwed tomorrow.”

“What’s on tomorrow?”

“A nine-hole, to start with.”

“Golf?”

“First leg of a dumbass pentathlon.” Dean groans and rubs a hand over his face. “After that there’s bowling, archery, and… some other things, I forget. Banana’s fucking leading now so I gotta make a good show.”

“Banana?”

“Yellow team,” Dean says. “There’s three teams, and the resort organizers tried to give us some dumb animal names but it didn’t take. So it’s red, blue, and banana.”

Castiel nods. “That makes it funny.”

Dean laughs. “Sure does. Okay, so I think I better get some shut-eye if I’m gonna have a decent chance tomorrow.” He rises to his feet. “This was really nice, Cas. I had a good time.”

“Actually, I was wondering…” Castiel stands up. “Would it be strange for me to join you?”

“For golf? Sure, Mom’s out so we could use another team member, if you don’t mind using my clubs.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “I meant for bed, Dean.” He adds quickly, “Not for sex, though. Just to sleep. Would that be strange?”

Dean hesitates, surprised, but his answer seems easy-going enough: “Nah, it’ll be kinda like a slumber party, right? But why are you assuming I don’t have a single?”

“A single?” Castiel echoes. “In this villa?”

“Okay, yeah, point. You wanna bunk down now? It’s cool if you wanna stay up longer.”

“No, I’m exhausted, actually.”

“Aww,” Dean says, wrapping an arm around Castiel’s shoulder to squeeze briefly, “you stayed up for me?”

“Isn’t that obvious?”

“Hey, it’s nice to be sure.”

Dean’s room is actually a little smaller than Castiel expected, with very little floorspace around the king-sized bed that is its centerpiece. The closets take up one length of the wall, while windows line the others save the space spared for the exit and bathroom doors. Dean’s suitcase is open on the luggage rack near the door, and Castiel does not at all peek inside when he walks past.

Getting ready for bed takes less time than Castiel expects. He uses the spare bathroom outside so they don’t need to take turns with Dean’s, and whatever potential awkwardness that could arise from their navigating around each other is canceled out by exhaustion. Even Castiel’s putting on a faded grey band shirt he’s sure belongs to Dean is only exciting for about two seconds due to the way Dean eyes him when he enters the bedroom, but then Dean yawns and flops on the bed with a loud groan, and the moment’s passed.

“It’s been a long day.” Castiel switches off the light and joins Dean under the covers. He takes the left side of the bed and settles on his side facing Dean, who’s massaging his cheeks with his knuckles.

“Ugh,” Dean says. “Christian’s gonna be on my ass tomorrow.”

“Were you serious about needing another player? I’m a little rusty, but I don’t mind.”

“Nah, you should stay with Mom. The first day after getting discharged is usually the most frustrating.”

“All right.” Castiel closes his eyes. They’re tired and have been talking for literal hours by this point, and he knows he should just put this off until morning, but as soon as the question pops up in his head he can’t help opening his eyes and saying, “Dean?” When the man hums an acknowledgement, Castiel says, “Did you search for me on the internet, once you knew my full name? I don’t mind if you did.”

Dean turns onto his side a little. There’s maybe about two or three feet of space between them on the bed, though it feels like much less when Dean keeps his voice low with his answering: “I did do a search, but I didn’t actually read anything. Once your face popped up I freaked out and closed the browser.”

“You freaked out?”

“This was, um… in the car, while we were driving here. I was kinda on edge ‘cause you weren’t at the house when we left, so I didn’t get the chance to clear the air with you, but at the same time I was kinda relieved? Because I didn’t know what I wanted to say and woulda probably just make things worse, but then I felt _guilty_ for being relieved, and it was – it was – I was in a weird place. Figured I’d distract myself by looking you up, but that’s not how I like to do things.”

“Yes, you’ve mentioned that.”

“It’s really hot when you wear suits that actually fit you right, though.”

“Thank you. I think you’re very striking in suits as well.”

Dean laughs. “Thanks, I try.” He falls quiet, and Castiel starts to let his thoughts drift towards sleep, only for Dean to speak up again with, “Was I ever – were you ever scared of me, Cas? When I was in asshole mode?”

“No.”

“Not even that first time you saw me? In the kitchen?”

Castiel scoffs. “Definitely not. I’ve dealt with far worse than you with far less energy.”

“Wow, way to make a guy feel special.”

“You’re very special, Dean.” Sadly, the room is dark, so Castiel cannot make out if Dean’s blushing or not. Dean shifts a little but says nothing, so Castiel adds, “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah, I heard you.”

After that it’s quiet again. Castiel’s mind drifts for a while on the edge of sleep, and then is startled when Dean moves again, muttering a soft, “Sorry,” when Castiel makes a sound of surprise. Castiel watches through half-lidded eyes as Dean shuffles against the pillow, trying to find a comfortable spot.

“If I’m bothering you—” Castiel says.

“No, it’s the bed,” Dean grumbles. “I miss my memory foam.”

“Do you have memory foam at Mary’s house?”

“Yeah, obviously. Not as awesome as the one at my place, but pretty damn good.”

It’s quiet again, until Castiel says, “What would have happened if I took that room?”

“What room?”

“Whichever room that had your back-up memory foam. Mary said I could pick any room I wanted.”

“She would’ve changed the mattress, obviously. Given you another set and put mine aside.”

“All that effort just for a mattress?”

“I take sleep hygiene seriously, okay? It’s a thing.”

“Good to know.” Castiel hopes that he remembers all of this in the morning. He snuggles deep under the covers, pleased at how comfortable it is – foreign bed notwithstanding. “Dean?”

“Mmm?”

“Do you think about the people that you hurt, before?”

Dean’s voice is very quiet when he says, “Yeah. A lot, actually.”

“Have you ever… tried to make contact?”

“I have.” Dean sighs. “That kind of thing is… Well, you gotta really _think_ about what you want to achieve. Is it for you, or is it for them? It’s nice in theory to want to make amends, but you also gotta respect their right to be angry at you forever, if that’s what they want.”

“What about when there’s money involved?”

Dean moves to prop himself up. “Dude.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Castiel says quickly. “It’s just I haven’t – I don’t even talk to Anna about this. I don’t like her knowing just how badly behaved I was. I’m sure she’s guessed, but she doesn’t need to know all the details.”

Dean settles back on the bed, and though the room is dark Castiel’s acutely aware of Dean’s scowling stare across the space between them. “Anything illegal?”

“All legal to the point of absurdity. The system is highly flawed.”

“So what’re you after? Forgiveness?”

“No. Justice, maybe? I had many reasons for walking away, and one of them was so that I would stop inflicting the damage I was doing. It may have all been technically legitimate, but I didn’t _have_ to pressure people the way I did, or dismantle companies the way I did. Sometimes I fantasize about going after Roman and Crowley but… that would be doing more of the same, wouldn’t it?”

“Why’d you quit?” Dean asks. “There must’ve been something specific.”

“Michael sold the house – our family house.” Castiel’s eyes have adjusted to the darkness so he can see that Dean’s watching him, alert and interested. “He’d kept it for a while as a token, really, but he finally decided to get rid of it, so all of us save Anna went back to clear our things. I was up in the attic when I, uh… I found a picture of my parents holding Anna and I as babies, and I just…”

Dean shuffles closer. “What?”

“I had a moment, I guess. I saw my mother and I just couldn’t imagine her being proud of me the way I was. I don’t _remember_ her, but I know enough of her from my siblings, neighbors, people that she’d touched in her life and thought of her fondly. I couldn’t picture her smiling at me again the way she was in that photo. That was the start of it. I didn’t quit immediately – it took weeks of doubts and sleepless nights, and one crucial phone-call to Anna during a particularly low point. If she hung up on me, I don’t know if I would’ve had the strength to acknowledge that there are other ways of living.”

“Go Anna,” Dean says. “So you’ve spent all that time since like, keeping a low profile?”

“I was very systematic in letting go, once I made the decision to. Tendered resignations, cleared contracts, sold off most of my assets. It was a balancing act to get rid of one portion of my career while making it seem I was doing it for the sake of starting something else. Roman and Eve, for example, think I’ve moved to China for a business venture.”

“What was the endgame? I mean, aside from quitting?”

“That was it,” Castiel says. “I just wanted out. It’s helped, but sometimes I wonder if it’s just another form of cowardice.”

Dean nods. “You want to do something to set right what you did before, but you’re afraid of just making it worse?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Okay, I don’t know if I do my best thinking at two in the morning, but the way I see it, you’ve got all this knowledge churning ‘round that brain of yours, and you can do something with that. You know how the system works, so you can leverage that on behalf of people who otherwise wouldn’t have a chance. You ever thought of consulting?”

“I doubt that anyone I’d hurt before would want anything to do with me.”

“Sure, but would you be interested in it?”

Castiel thinks, and he can actually feel his heart skip a beat. “Yes, I think I might.”

“Sleep on it,” Dean says. “We’re gonna talk about this later, see what we can bang into shape. It doesn’t _have_ to be consulting but at least that’s a stepping point, right?”

“Yes.” Castiel reaches out for Dean in gratitude, grabbing the first thing he touches – an elbow, it feels like. “Dean, I—”

Dean maneuvers under the covers a little, taking Castiel’s hand in his. “I know, Cas. Thank you for telling me, I know how big a deal it is.”

Castiel swallows. “Somehow when I’m talking you, it stops being big deal at all.” Dean smiles, and Castiel exhales slowly. “All right, we’d better go to sleep now.”

“We’ll continue later, yeah?”

“Yes, Dean. Thank you.” Castiel closes his eyes and for the rest of the night – save for the one time he starts awake at the press of an unfamiliar foot against his calf – he sleeps well.


	15. just leave it all up to me, i'm gonna show you what it’s all about

When Castiel wakes the next morning, Dean is long gone, though he’s left behind a note written on resort stationery letting Castiel know his activity schedule for the day. There’s a doodle of a smiley face on a corner of the note, which is ridiculous, but even more ridiculous is how Castiel spends a few extra minutes lying in bed with the note clutched against his chest, just because.

Castiel does get up to wash eventually, and changes into another set of borrowed clothes before going out to check on Mary. Mary’s still in her room, but she’s also up and has a breakfast tray spread out before her for her convenience.

“Part of their apology package,” Mary says. “I assume.”

Castiel joins her by bringing in one of the dining room chairs and sharing her breakfast tray. He learns from Mary that normally they have breakfast in the dining hall, but she’s not going to complain if the resort wants to go the extra mile for her remaining time here. Castiel agrees that it’s good of them to bother.

“How’s the foot?” Castiel asks.

“Throbbing,” Mary admits with a sigh. “I’d imagine it’d be much worse without the painkillers, but as it is it’s still terribly uncomfortable.”

“Did it keep you up last night?”

“Not that much, thank goodness. I did wake up a few times, but other than that I slept fine. How about you?”

“What?” Castiel says. “I’m not the one who’s just had surgery.”

Mary laughs and rolls his eyes. “Yes, obviously, but there have been other goings-on in my house that I apparently hadn’t been privy to.”

Castiel keeps his face placid, even as Mary eyes him pointedly over her cup of herbal tea. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything about my growing fondness for Dean.”

“Oh, I understand _that_ ,” Mary says, waving it off. “Of course it’s awkward to talk to me when it involves my son. But now that I know about it, how are you dealing? Romantic entanglements aren’t your forte, usually. At least, that’s the impression I had before?”

“That’s still true, but Dean is…” Castiel scowls at his hands. “I became interested in him as a friend, first and foremost. In fact, I’d still be perfectly happy to be his friend, but this other part is… it feels like a natural extension of that, if we wish to pursue it.”

“Which you are?”

“It’s very new. But yes, we are. Dean is… he’s so…”

“Oh look at that smile!” Mary exclaims.

Castiel looks at Mary in surprise, and laughs softly when she reaches out and presses her thumb and forefinger lightly around his jaw. He hadn’t even realized he was smiling that broadly, but Dean has that effect. “Yes,” he says sheepishly. “I like him a great deal.”

“That’s good,” Mary says. “I think you could make each other really happy.”

“That’s a thing I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” Castiel says. “If Dean and I become serious, then he’s going to have to be my favorite Winchester.”

Mary bursts out laughing. “Oh, Cas, I’d expect nothing less. When he told me that he’d developed an interest in you, I almost didn’t believe it. I mean, _I_ missed something _that_ huge? It’s clear he was acting weird, but I had no idea it was mixed up in that terrible misunderstanding.”

“It wasn’t a _terrible_ misunderstanding,” Castiel says. “A silly one, perhaps?”

“No, it’s terrible,” Mary says firmly. “That kind of thing – you know, taking advantage of the help that way – it’s so insidiously common in the circles we go in. John and I taught our boys better than that, but with it being so prevalent it’s just… I’m sad that Dean and Sam got hurt by that perceived hypocrisy.”

“You’re sad that _they_ were hurt by their perception of your behavior. Aren’t _you_ hurt by their perception as well?”

“No, I understand it. I’ve made mistakes before, and I can see how they would’ve thought I would resort to such a thing.”

“I’m even more glad you’ve talked it over, then,” Castiel says. “It’s bad enough that assumption stayed as long as it did.”

“I’m glad, too.” Mary sighs. “Though not so glad that I completely missed Dean’s growing fondness for you.”

“If it’s any consolation, I missed it, too.”

Mary’s mouth drops open. “How does that work?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel says. “But I assume Anna’s going to yell at me when she finds out.”

“You haven’t told her either? I’m positively shocked.”

“Fine, I’ll send her a message now.” Castiel pulls out his phone. “Let me take a photo with you first. She’ll want to know how you’re doing this morning.”

“You should get a photo with Dean later, too.” Mary nods. “Anna will definitely appreciate one of those. Go see him after your shopping excursion.”

“Is that an order?” Castiel asks.

“Yes. Definitely.”

  


* * *

  


Castiel only gets the chance to hunt Dean down later in the day, after he’s spent some time helping Mary figure out her range of movement, and then gone out to do a little shopping. The resort is large but the staff are more than happy to help out, providing a shuttle service to take him out to the obstacle course where Dean’s team is currently located.

The red-shirted team has about a dozen members of various ages, most of whom are gathered around what appears to be a map and – as in the tradition of family gatherings everywhere – arguing. Castiel spots Dean before stepping down from the golf cart, and tips the porter before turning his attention fully to the man jogging up to him.

Dean is in the familiar shades and bandana, though he’s wearing a different team shirt from the one in Mary’s photos. Castiel starts to avert his eyes before realizing that nope, he totally has permission to ogle him now and may do so as much as he pleases. Castiel doesn’t even need to be embarrassed when Dean notices said ogling, and props his hands on his hips in accentuating the comeliness of his figure.

“Hey,” Dean says, propping his shades up on the top of his head.

“Hello,” Castiel says. “Mary says to make sure that you’re staying hydrated.”

“You know,” Dean says airily, “back when you were forbidden territory, every time you said my mom’s name it was like a punch in the gut. Or getting doused in ice.”

Castiel blinks. “Ice?”

“Ice. Geez, Cas, ice in _my pants_.”

“Oh!” Castiel coughs. “That’s unfortunate.”

“I’ll say.” Dean beams. “I like this better.”

“Me, too. So, um,” Castiel shuffles on his feet a little, disarmed by Dean’s presence despite the fact that they’d slept together. “How’s the pentathlon? Are you performing well?”

“Eh, it’s okay. This is the last part, we gotta hide our flag somewhere on the resort grounds and it’s gotta stay there for twelve hours if we’re to add the whopping last twenty points to the tally.” Dean explains the mechanism of the game, about how it must involve subterfuge and decoys to make sure the other teams don’t figure out where they’ve put their flag, while at the same having to spy on the other teams with theirs.

“That is tricky. I’m sure you’ll figure something out, seeing as strategy is your specialty. May I have a picture with you first?”

Dean balks. “No, man, I’m gross. Can’t it wait?”

“You’re not gross, and this is for my sister.”

“Oh.” Dean looks put out. “I thought you wanted a picture for _you_.”

“I already have pictures of you.”

“But none _with_ me.”

“We’ll remedy that later,” Castiel says firmly. “Is that all right?”

“Works for me. Okay, fine, let’s take a picture for Anna.” Dean moves easily against Castiel’s side, his face close to Castiel’s and his hand light on Castiel’s back, while Castiel’s hold his phone out for the picture. Dean moves away as soon as its snapped, and though Castiel understands why – Dean is indeed significantly sweaty and grimy – he can’t help feeling bereft. Dean seems to notice, and says, “What’s up?”

“No, nothing.”

“Cas.”

“It’ll have to wait for when you’re… feeling less gross?”

Dean glances back over his shoulder at the rest of his team, then sighs. “This is gonna take for-fucking-ever.”

“It wouldn’t if you’d actually help out!” someone shouts at them.

“Gimme a sec!” Dean yells back. “Cas, I’d love to hang out with you right now but…”

“Of course, Dean, don’t apologize. I’m the one who’s not supposed to be here.”

“Best distraction ever, though.” Dean grins, which Castiel suspects means that he’d successfully elicited a blush. “Thanks for checking up on me, man. Once we’re done here I’ll head right back. Everyone’s gonna have to shower before the evening hunt, anyway. I’ll see you at the villa?”

“Yes, I’ll be there.” Castiel drinks in the sight of Dean confidently putting his shades back on and, after giving a salute, jogging back to his team. Again Castiel feels himself start to wilt, which seems like the opposite of what he’d come out here to accomplish by seeing Dean and supporting him the way that good boyfriends are supposed to. Propelled by the need to do _something_ , Castiel blurts out, “Dean! Don’t you want a good luck kiss?”

Dean keeps jogging, but instead of a straight line he starts moving in a large arc until he’s coming back to Castiel. He stops right in front of him and pops his shades back up before saying, very seriously, “Great idea. Yes.”

They haven’t kissed since Mary’s birthday party, which seems a shame considering the wonderful night they had yesterday, but as Castiel leans forward, he thinks _this_ moment is just right. He hadn’t been prepared for the birthday party kiss, and last night he’d found it more satisfying to share hours of talking and getting to know Dean, and realizing how comfortable they could be together. A kiss seems perfectly timed for _now_ , in _this_ moment, with both of them at ease and confident in broad daylight.

Dean sighs at the touch of Castiel’s mouth against his. He moves his lips and Castiel moves with him, turning the kiss closed-mouthed to open-mouth again, and there’s just a suggestion of Dean’s tongue before Castiel’s drawing his lips shut and pulling back. Dean’s eyes are half-lidded, his expression that of a savoring connoisseur.

“Good luck,” Castiel says quietly. He leans back, and only then registers a man standing nearby, watching them with an unimpressed scowl.

“You guys are at _that_ stage?” the man scoffs. “Peachy.”

“Shut it, Christian,” Dean says calmly.

Christian gives Castiel a look. “You should withhold sex until he makes sure the team wins.”

“Hey!” Dean exclaims.

Christian shrugs. “I’m just saying, if you need the motivation…”

“Ha ha,” Dean says flatly. “Go away.”

“Would you like me to spy for you?” Castiel asks.

“No!” Dean flaps a hand at Christian, who ignores him and approaches anyway, laughing ominously. “No,” Dean says firmly, “you’re not getting involved.”

“I don’t mind,” Castiel says.

“Did you see any of the other teams?” Christian asks.

“I saw Banana in the parking lot,” Castiel says. “One of the parking lots? The one with the big tree. And I saw a few members of Blue at the swimming area.”

“That’s enough,” Dean says, hooking his hands around Castiel’s arms and steering him away from his cousin. “You’re not getting sucked into our madness.”

“I do know how to spy, Dean,” Castiel says. “I can be disarming when I want to be.”

“I believe you, but I’m not throwing you in the deep end without proper training. Risk-benefit, right?”

Castiel considers this. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Good. Do you know your way back? Your ride’s gone.”

“I know the way.” Castiel waves a hand vaguely over Dean’s shoulder. “Nice to meet you, Christian!”

“You, too!” Christian calls back. “It’s Cas, right?”

“Yes!” Castiel wriggles out from Dean’s grip when there’s enough distance between them and the perceived danger. “How did he know my name? Did Gwen tell everyone?”

“Nah, that’s more on me,” Dean says, though he sounds more amused than upset. “You arrived with us out of the blue, so pretty much everyone was on my ass over breakfast. Sam had a good laugh about it, which is fine, but we’ll see who’s laughing when they get thrown in the pool.”

“I hope you win.” Castiel reaches up and helps put Dean’s shades back in place, smoothing the temples behind Dean’s ears.

“Bonus, but unnecessary.” Dean’s smile is warm and mischievous, so Castiel gives in to impulse and presses another kiss to Dean’s chin before stepping back quickly. This whole dating-a-man thing may be new territory, but it’s nice that it so far seems to be a mere extension of the easy camaraderie they’d had before, except with more kissing.

“Work hard,” Castiel says, “but don’t hurt yourself. I’ll be waiting.” He returns to the villa on light steps.

  


* * *

  


In Castiel’s case, waiting involves relaxing with Mary back in the villa. Any guilt Castiel would normally have about his work is soothed over by Mary’s insistence that they deserve the break, and that he’s performing a much-welcomed service of cheering her up in her time of need. They watch TV, eat, talk, and even manage a brief video-chat session with Anna where she coos sympathetically over Mary’s foot and ominously tells Castiel that she understands that he doesn’t want to talk about Dean yet while it’s so new, but she expects all the details “later”.

After that, Mary begs off for a nap, so Castiel explores the villa for a while before eventually settling in Dean’s bathroom.

Castiel’s still in the bathroom when Dean returns, huffing and puffing and groaning after a long day of familial socialization, only to freeze in the bathroom door and declare, “Are you having a bubble bath?”

“No, I’m using one of those bath… enhancers.” Castiel lifts his hands out of the water to show Dean the sparkles caught on his skin, but Dean’s politely turned his back to Castiel, is slowly walking backwards into the room so he can wash his hands in the sink. Castiel says helpfully, “It’s all right, you won’t see anything you haven’t seen already.”

“You sure about that?” Dean asks.

“Well, yes? I did leave the door wide open, as I anticipated your eventual presence.”

“I thought you left it open so you could hear Mom call for you.”

“That, too.” Castiel takes a deep breath of the salts, impressed that they’ve lasted this long into his soak. “Hmm. It just occurred to me that these bath extras may not be complimentary, and that I might have used yours without asking.”

Dean turns around and leans against the edge of the sink, one eyebrow raised. Castiel’s even impressed by Dean’s ability to not let his eyes drift downwards – not that there’s anything to see beyond Castiel’s shoulders and collarbone, what with everything else being immersed in the opaque, dark green water of the tub.

“One, they’re called bombs,” Dean says, “and two, what would you do if they _were_ mine?”

“Then I’d apologize for taking one without permission, and ask if there’s any way I may compensate your loss.”

Dean grins. “You do know how that sounds like, seeing as how you’re naked in there?”

Castiel meets Dean’s gaze without blinking. “What would you consider a fair barter trade for bath salts?”

“I don’t know… A glimpse of your belly button, maybe?”

Castiel nods. “See, I am learning the ways of being a kept boy. A flash of belly button is comparable to luxury bathing amenities. I shall remember this.”

Dean laughs. “A kept boy? Oh, so you’re just after my money?”

“And you’re just after my body, which we’ve established you appreciate a great deal.”

It’s been nothing but light teasing thus far, so Castiel notices when Dean falls silent, then quietly approaches and kneels next to the bathtub so they’re face to face. Dean’s expression is benign, but he’s very careful when he says, “Hey, do you think it’d be okay if we don’t joke about that? I mean, apparently you’ve been thinking that I hated you this whole time, so I, uh… it kinda leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

“All right,” Castiel says. “I won’t joke about that. I know there are a number of more interesting reasons that you like me.”

“You know that _now_.”

“Is there a specific reason why my error bothers you? Aside from it being a bad error to begin with?”

“Man, I don’t know.” Dean sighs and rubs a hand over his grimy face. “Maybe it’s because I know what a bummer it is when you can’t trust that people are really into you? I used to be really stupidly trusting, even after Mom and Dad tried to grill it into my head that people are gonna see my name, or the things I have, and want to get in on that. Most of the time I even understand, because it’s a damn unforgiving world out there, but…”

“You want people to like you for you,” Castiel says. “Yes, I understand that. I’m sorry you’d had a rude awakening.”

“It’s good experience,” Dean says. “Helps me appreciate the friends I can count on. It also means I want the people I care about to _know_ I appreciate them for real.”

Castiel sinks a little into the water, forgetting for a moment that he doesn’t need to hide his pleased expression. “Thank you. I appreciate you, too.”

“Did you ever have that problem? Not being sure what people’s intentions are?”

“Oh yes, but I went about it the opposite way you did,” Castiel says. “I was suspicious of _everybody_ , and didn’t see the point of developing relationships beyond what was necessary for efficiency at work.”

Dean smirks. “That’s kinda hard to imagine.”

“Good,” Castiel says. “I’m glad we met when we did, when I’m prepared for it.”

“Could’ve met in a better way, though.”

“No, this is just right. I don’t like thinking of ‘what ifs’.”

Dean smiles, his eyes soft. “Fair enough. Though I have to say it’s weird as hell having this talk with you while I’m sitting on the bathroom floor.”

“You should have a shower.” When Dean just stares at him, Castiel adds, “It’s over there? I’m not using it right now. I won’t look.”

“Sure you won’t,” Dean says with a teasing grin.

“I promise,” Castiel says. “Or you can wait for me to be done, that’s fine, too.”

Dean tilts his head speculatively, then shrugs. “All right, since you’re cool with it.”

Castiel returns to his position of leisure – leaning back against the side of the tub, his head propped against the edge. He closes his eyes just as the room is filled with noises of Dean puttering around, undressing and then getting into the shower. Honestly, he’s a little surprised that Dean would go for it, but Castiel’s learning all sorts of things about intimacy, and the ways it may manifest.

They’d slept well last night, but it was only in the light of day that Castiel truly parsed how _comfortable_ he’d been the whole evening, and free from the awkwardness he associates with these kinds of relationships. It’d been just like he’d imagined, based on the potential of their earlier interactions, only extended. Castiel’s still a novice in non-parasitic relationships, but all his inadequacies compared to Dean – the social, emotional creature that he is – feel surmountable, _manageable._

Castiel sinks a little into the tub, feeling the water level brush his chin. He smiles to himself, and has to suppress a delighted laugh at yet another wave of realization that Dean actually _likes_ him, and is comfortable with him _right back._

He doesn’t fall asleep, but it seems in no time the water’s turned off, and then Dean – minty-fresh and wearing a long-sleeved bathrobe – pads into view.

“You didn’t even look.” Dean sounds impressed.

“I said I wouldn’t,” Castiel replies.

Dean smiles. “So you did. I’ll go check up on Mom, all right?”

Once Dean’s gone, Castiel empties the tub and rinses himself off, humming under his breath all the while. He brought clothes in with him but the robe Dean was wearing looked nice, so he takes the other one from the rack and puts that on before stepping outside. To his surprise, Dean is in the bedroom, fully dressed and sitting on the bed as he taps away at his phone.

“I thought you said you were going to check on Mary,” Castiel says.

“She’s sleeping,” Dean says, moving over to give space for Castiel to sit next to him. “Did Anna say anything when you sent the picture of us?”

“She’s reserving her full reaction for later. When she can grill me properly.”

Dean laughs. “Siblings, eh?”

“What are you doing?” Castiel peers at the phone, which Dean doesn’t seem to mind showing. “Emails?”

“Work things, mostly.” Dean keeps thumb-swiping through the keys as he talks, inadvertently showing off his multitasking skills. “There’s this contract I really want to get, but timing’s not so good.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Thanks, but I just need to send off this… There, done.” Dean puts his phone down, and then double-takes a little. “Well, look at you.”

“What?”

“All freshly-showered and decadent.” Dean runs his hand lightly over the top of Castiel’s hair. He smiles so much around Castiel now; Castiel loves it. “You smell like… what is that, orange?”

“Something citrusy, yes. Are Sam and Jess back yet?”

“No, they’re still out with the flag hunt. _I’m_ here because I’m hiding out and making the other teams nervous.” Dean grins. “Our flag’s secure, so I’m not too worried. We got some time until dinner, do you want to do something? I brought some cards, if you’re up for that.”

Castiel hesitates, but then carefully puts a hand on Dean’s knee. Dean’s only reaction is to blink a little, and then say in a very calm voice, “Cas, you trying to seduce me or something?”

“Is it working? I could…” Castiel starts to untie the robe’s sash, but is stopped when Dean puts his hands on top of Castiel’s. “No?”

“Why?” Dean asks. “I mean, why now? I thought you weren’t, uh… You’re not ready?”

“You surprised me last time,” Castiel says. “I’m definitely not surprised now, seeing as that I’m the one initiating it. Unless you don’t like being surprised either?”

“No, no, I—I’m good, but…” Dean clears his throat. “You sure you’re ready now?”

“Yes, seeing as I’ve had time to think about it.”

“It was only a few days ago you freaked out on me,” Dean points out. “A perfectly understandable freak-out, by the way.”

“Yes,” Castiel says impatiently, “but I’ve had time to get used to the idea.”

Dean’s still frowning. “I don’t want you to think that you have to, just because I want to.”

“You are incredibly sweet,” Castiel declares. “I will confess that a part of me is anxious, but not because I doubt my willingness. I _am_ willing. Though I worry that I might disappoint you.”

“Dude.” Dean leans in, frowning as he gently cups Castiel’s face. “You think you’ll _disappoint_ me?”

“It is possible,” Castiel says. “You know it is, Dean.”

“Okay, the sex might be bad, but that doesn’t mean that I’ll be disappointed. It just means that we can keep practicing at it, if we want. It’s not like you knew how to play Hive like a boss the first time you tried.”

Castiel inclines his head. “That’s true.” Due to Dean’s approach, their faces are close now, and certainly close enough that Castiel can take Dean’s chin gently between his thumb and forefinger, holding him in place as Castiel leans forward.

Though there is excitement in pursuing a kiss, Castiel’s more interested in following the minutiae of Dean’s reaction – how his eyes flutter shut, and his lips part with a shaky breath. Then their mouths are touching, and Castiel lets his own eyes close so that he can savor the sensation.

Dean’s a good kisser. He doesn’t press too hard, doesn’t overwhelm. Instead he coaxes, teases, and guides Castiel to follow his lead in letting their lips part and come together repeatedly, until the rest of Castiel’s body starts to turn tingly.

Castiel only belatedly remembers to use his hands as well, which he does starting with gripping Dean’s lovely shoulders, and then drawing his palms down his arms to feel and knead the muscle there. Dean’s skin is still soft and warm from the shower, which is nice. Castiel experimentally draws his fingers down Dean’s front, and laughs when Dean hisses at the touch despite there being a soft cotton shirt between them.

“You like that,” Castiel says.

“I like lots of things.” Dean grins. “Anything specific you wanna try, or…?”

“What would you recommend?”

Dean laughs and kisses Castiel firmly before pulling back altogether. “So it’s my choice today, is it? All right. Let me get some stuff while you, uh… you can lie down? Leave the robe on.” He practically bounces away to the bathroom, while Castiel shimmies up the bed and settles comfortably on his back.

Dean returns to the bed stripped down to his boxers, which seems terribly unfair. Castiel reaches up as soon as Dean is close enough, pressing a hand firmly on Dean’s side, near his kidneys, and then sweeping up to his pecs and back. Dean shudders again at the barely-sensual touch, and surreptitiously adjusts his boxers, through which the shape of his arousal is clearly visible. Castiel looks at the thickness of it and tries not to be nervous.

“You okay there?” Dean swings one leg over Castiel’s body, and then sits down carefully on Castiel’s thighs. “What’re you thinking about?”

“I’m wondering what it’s like to want that.” Castiel gestures at Dean’s erection. “To be turned on at the sight of it.”

“It’s okay if you’re not.” Dean puts his hands on Castiel’s wrists, and then lightly drags his fingers up Castiel’s arms. Up and down he goes, the motion soothing, yet adding to the heat building inside Castiel. “Is there anything you _do_ like looking at? You can focus on that.”

“I like your eyes,” Castiel says. “Your shoulders, your waist, your arms and hands. Your stomach as well, that’s quite nice.”

“You smooth fucker,” Dean says with a groan, leaning down to kiss Castiel deeply before pulling back. “You don’t even _sound_ smooth, but the way you… I don’t know, man. Thanks to you I’m learning I have a helluva lot more turn-ons than I thought.”

“Like what?”

“Like that, exactly.” Dean brushes a thumb against Castiel’s cheek. “When you look at me like that.”

Castiel almost says that he doesn’t know what Dean means, but is stopped by the realization that he _does_ know, because he’s been rendered breathless more than once by the fondness in Dean’s gaze. It startles Castiel to think that he’s able to inflict the same effect upon Dean, who is far more worldly, and whom Castiel had (perhaps mistakenly) assumed would need more than a mere glance to be drawn in.

This is one of those times Castiel is glad to be wrong.

“Yeah,” Dean says, still smiling. He takes one edge of Castiel’s sash and tugs at it lightly. “Shall I unwrap my early birthday present now?”

“Oh, I’m a present?” Castiel asks.

“Only reason I can think of why you’re wrapped up so nicely.” Dean grins when Castiel lets his hands fall to his sides, giving him full permission to do as he pleases. Dean whistles as he slowly draws the sash loose, one side and then the other, before almost daintily untwisting the knot and then flicking both ends of the sash aside.

Dean places one hand at the base of Castiel’s neck and then slowly drags his fingertips down. His touch is light and teasing, but its purpose is clear – revealing a long stretch of skin from Castiel’s neck down, down, down to his navel. Gooseflesh rises in the wake of Dean’s touch, but Castiel forces himself to stay still, and to keep his eyes on Dean’s face. Dean’s smirking, captivated by the sight before him. Castiel gasps when Dean curls his fingers, digging the tips into the hair beneath his belly button.

“Wanted to do that,” Dean says. “Wanted to do this, too.”

That’s apparently a head’s up for Dean’s leaning down and kissing Castiel’s chest. Soft, brief kisses at first, while Dean’s fingers tease the slip of bare skin between the open folds of the robe. Castiel takes deep breaths as he closes his eyes and basks in the sensations – following the way Dean breathes hot against his skin, and then nuzzles against the edges of the robe to push it open in increments.

The tease seems to go both ways. Castiel has to bear the slowness of Dean’s undressing him, while Dean apparently enjoys taking his own sweet time revealing bit by bit what he could otherwise have all at once. He noses one side of the robe out of the way, kissing just about every inch of skin revealed as it goes, and laps lightly at a nipple – which draws a surprised cry from Castiel’s lips.

“Dean,” Castiel chokes. “Dean, oh, please.”

Instead of pressing on, Dean draws back a little, head tilted to one side as he takes in the adjusted view. Lower down Castiel’s body the robes’ folds have parted under the press of Dean’s body; Castiel shifts his hips and feels air against his shaft.

“Oh, hey.” Dean slips his hand under Castiel’s balls, feeling the shape of them. “Peekaboo.”

Castiel laughs, and then hisses when Dean grips the base of his cock. “Don’t talk to it, that’s – that’s weird, even for me.”

“No problem, sorry.” Dean returns to kissing his chest, this time interspersing bites between the press of lips and tongue. Castiel switches to breathing through his mouth, and completely fails to guess where Dean moves next. Arousal’s such a funny thing, enjoyable yet frustrating at the same time.

There’s a rustle somewhere beyond Castiel’s line of sight and then Dean’s hand returns to Castiel’s dick but now wet with lubricant. The slick changes the sensation of Dean’s pulls, which turn slower and harder, a pulse of tightness that has Castiel humping into his hand desperately.

Then it stops, and Dean sits up. For a handful of seconds there’s no movement, and Castiel looks up at Dean, at a loss.

Dean is beautiful, but this isn’t new information. What intrigues Castiel even more is how Dean’s faces changes from moment to moment, from emotion to emotion, and how each change brings something new and wonderful to behold. A joyful Dean is always a delight, but now he is all patience and focus as he savors the view.

Somehow the robe Castiel’s still partially wearing makes the moment feel more salacious than it would be if he were fully naked. Dean’s hands rest lightly on the tops of Castiel’s thighs, holding him there. Castiel hopes he likes what he sees.

“I hope you like what you see,” Castiel says.

“How you look is one thing,” Dean says, his voice hoarse but calm, “but it’s more about how you’re on the verge of losing it.”

Castiel scowls. “I’m not going to orgasm yet.”

“Not that far, no, but on the way.” Dean presses his tongue to the corner of his mouth thoughtfully. “Tryin’ to decide how to get you off.”

Castiel gasps, and his cock jumps without a touch. “All right, that’s embarrassing.”

“If by ‘embarrassing’, you mean: really fucking hot.”

Castiel makes a frustrated noise and pushes his hands into his air. “So it pleases you when I cannot control myself?”

“Because of _me_ , specifically,” Dean points out. “That’s the crucial part.”

“Oh God.” Castiel pushes against Dean’s hands but there’s no relief, nothing but air wafting over his erection. “Of course it’s because of you, you are distracting to the _extreme_.”

“So are you, man,” Dean says calmly, just as his hands firmly sweep upwards with no warning, his palms flat as they move up Castiel’s thighs to his stomach to his chest. Castiel cries out and jerks up into the sudden the touch, whimpering when Dean grabs the edges of the robe and flicks them clear out of the way.

“Dean,” Castiel says.

“Hmm.” Dean grins. “Hey, let’s time it.”

Castiel’s responding, “What?” turns into a distorted moan when Dean takes Castiel’s left nipple into his mouth.

Apparently Dean’s plan is to impress Castiel with his dexterity, because he proceeds to suckle Castiel’s nipple and jerk Castiel off at the same time. Castiel grabs Dean’s back for something to cling onto, which elicits a growled, “Yeah, harder,” from Dean, which is nice. Castiel agreeably tightens his grip on Dean’s body, vaguely registering his nails catching skin, but that just has Dean laughing before dragging his teeth in a loop across Castiel’s chest, seeking out his other nipple to lavish attention on.

There’s so much going on. Between Castiel’s legs, Dean is switching between palming the head of Castiel’s dick and pumping the shaft, plus other fondling touches that make Castiel gasp. On Castiel’s chest, Dean goes from flicking the area with his tongue, to breathing cool air on it, to pressing his teeth against the hardened nub – which causes a jolt to rush down Castiel’s spine.

Dean’s ministrations draw a taut line of pleasure between Castiel’s nipple and his cock, that line growing tighter with every lick and pull, until Castiel’s body seems to be nothing but sensation. It’s so much yet not enough, and Castiel can merely hold on and let Dean play him like an instrument, helping him reach that apex. Dean is a genius, obviously, and the least Castiel can do is let him know by making as much noise as is appropriate, and by giving in to that pleasure. Castiel moans, gasps, hisses, and fucks up into Dean’s strong, sure grip until his thighs grow tense.

“Oh, _yes_ ,” Castiel says, and then he’s coming.

The moment seems to go on and on, until at last the pleasure ebbs away and Castiel is free to be mildly embarrassed about losing himself like that in front of Dean. But Dean doesn’t seem to mind, because he merely wraps Castiel in a lovely, rib-crushing hug.

Castiel gathers his breath and then pats Dean. “I’m okay, thank you.”

“Good.” Dean draws back and scrutinizes Castiel carefully. “Gotta be sure, you know?”

“It’s a little strange, but… on the whole quite pleasant.”

“Ten out of ten?”

“Wouldn’t be right to give a score if you haven’t come yet.” Castiel reaches and touches Dean’s face. “How do you…?”

“Okay, let’s try this.” Dean adjusts his position on top of Castiel, his arms braced close on either side of Castiel’s torso. “Can you put your legs around me?”

Castiel’s relaxed enough that he’d do anything. He follows the instruction, first hooking his legs around Dean’s, but then Dean reaches down and guides one leg, lifting it up higher to wrap almost around Dean’s waist. Castiel starts in surprise but mirrors the movement with his other leg.

Dean’s hand stays under Castiel’s thigh, grabbing loosely at the tender skin there. “Can you lock your ankles together?”

“Yes, I…” Castiel does it, effectively trapping Dean inside the loop of his legs. He’s further surprised when Dean starts moving, rolling his hips inside Castiel’s open thighs. Castiel can feel Dean’s erection rubbing firmly against him, pulsing hot next to Castiel’s own softening dick.

Castiel understands the rubbing but it’s the position that has him speechless. It’s so _suggestive_ , especially when Dean gets a good rocking rhythm; it’s almost as though Dean’s fucking him, where each thrust downwards pushes his cock inside Castiel’s body, only it isn’t. Truth be told, Dean might as well be fucking Castiel for the way he sighs and throws his head back, eyes half-lidded in his pursuit of ecstasy.

Fair’s fair, so Castiel touches as much of Dean as he can, stroking behind his neck and down his arms, which he hopes Dean enjoys as much as Castiel enjoyed having done to him. Castiel kisses Dean, too – at first only his neck and chin, but when Dean brings his head back down Castiel fits their mouths together, kissing Dean as firmly as he can manage.

Dean’s thrusts grow short and quick in their urgency. Castiel figures out how to move with him, pushing up where Dean pushes down, giving Dean as solid a surface to get off on.

“Can I have your hand?” Dean asks hoarsely. When Castiel murmurs his assent, Dean takes Castiel’s left hand and guides it down into the limited space between their bodies, where Dean presses it against his dick. Castiel squeezes experimentally on the hard length, which has Dean’s whole body jerking.

“Ah, _yes_ ,” Dean hisses, “God, just like that.”

Castiel’s not very good at this, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Dean keeps his hand on Castiel’s, apparently wanting to make sure that his dick is trapped between Castiel’s palm and lower stomach. With Dean’s motions growing more frantic, Castiel finds himself vaguely wondering how different it would be if Dean just moved his cock lower a little for fuller penetration – would Dean still be able to snap his hips so sharply, so firmly?

A part of Castiel is nervous at the idea, because surely his ass wouldn’t appreciate it, but what if Dean could make it pleasurable for him? The fact is, Castiel’s already enjoying this position – his body open in service while Dean’s on top of him and candid in his desire – so the possibility that there could be _more_ is intriguing.

For now, though, Castiel kisses Dean until Dean can no longer manage it, reduced to panting and whining through hissed teeth as he seeks his pleasure on Castiel’s body. Then Castiel holds him, tightens his legs and drags his fingers down Dean’s back and grabs at Dean’s hair, until at last Dean shudders to a halt, thrusting two more times before crying out a garbled version of Castiel’s name.

Castiel can’t stop smiling, not when Dean whimpers against his neck, or has to be tipped over onto his back, or even when Dean presses his hands to his own face and makes a helpless sound. The wetness between their bodies is gross, so Castiel pulls off the mess that is his robe and wipes them down quickly.

Then it’s time for reflection. Castiel settles on his side facing Dean, and runs a soothing hand up and down Dean’s chest as he recovers his breath.

“Okay,” Dean says at last. He clears his throat. “Okay.”

“That was very nice,” Castiel says.

“Yeah?” Dean smiles broadly at Castiel, looking exceedingly pleased. “That’s great. Really, man.”

“I have to confess, though…”

“What?”

“I thought there would be…” Castiel pauses, searching for the phrase, “…more inserting involved?”

“Oh, oh _man_.” Dean reaches over, brushing the backs of his knuckles against Castiel’s chin. “Is that what you were worried about? I’m sorry, I forget that it’s…. Anyway, not all dudes are into that, and it’s definitely not compulsory.”

“I didn’t know that,” Castiel says, genuinely surprised. “Like, some men _never_ want to…? Even though they enjoy sex in general?”

“Yeah. There’s lots of reasons, like anal involves more work so it can be a bit of drag, or they just don’t like the feeling, you know? Or don’t wanna deal with the hygiene part of it. There’s so many other things we can do anyway.”

“Oh.” Castiel thinks. “Do you enjoy it, though?”

“Me?” Dean shrugs. “I enjoy lots of things.”

“Yes, but do you enjoy _that_?” Castiel sits up, determined to have a constructive conservation. “Are you interested in putting yourself inside me?”

“Not right now!” Dean bleats. “Geez, Cas!”

“But you _do_ , generally speaking?”

Dean clears his throat. “Like I said, I’d never push you into something you’re not ready for. We can work up to it slowly, see if it works for you.” He looks at Castiel questioningly. “Dude, are you… disappointed?”

“No. I don’t know?” Castiel sighs. “It’s just that I’d mentally prepared myself for it – for _that_ – but it didn’t happen, so it seems I just wasted all that energy for nothing. It’s anti-climactic.”

Far from being insulted, Dean smirks. “I don’t know, I’d say that’s me being a considerate boyfriend.”

“You are.” Castiel gives Dean a quick kiss in appreciation. “You’re very considerate, and I thank you for it. You’re right, this is probably better.”

“But you’re curious,” Dean says carefully.

“I suppose? I must be, if I’m still thinking about it. I thought I’d be relieved, and I am to some extent, but at the same time it’s… Am I annoying you?”

“No, this is good, I like this,” Dean says. “You’re talking it out, and I get to listen. That’s cool.”

“What about you? Do you have any thoughts?”

“I’m good.” Dean scratches his chin. “I was a little worried about pushing you too far ‘cause it can be freaky to have another guy’s junk so close to your own the first time, so I’m just happy that you’re happy. How’s your nips? I might’ve gotten a little carried away.”

Castiel presses the heel of one hand against a nipple. “A little sore, but they’ll be fine. I liked how you gave them lots of attention.”

Dean grins. “I noticed.”

“You’re very pleased with yourself.” Castiel looks down at his thigh, where Dean’s drawing vague shapes against his knee. “Does that happen often, though? That people get… freaky – freaked out? The first time?”

Dean’s brow knots a little, but when he looks at Castiel, there’s only mild confusion there. “There’s nothing wrong with you wanting to go slow, if that’s what you’re asking?”

“That’s not what I’m asking.” Castiel takes Dean’s closest hand and holds it gently between his palms. “I’m wondering if it’s been a common occurrence for people to freak out at you when you make sexual overtures?”

Dean’s eyes widen in surprise. “Dude, no, that’s – that’s something else, you’re not like that—”

“But you have experienced it.”

“It’s a risk,” Dean admits, “but I mean, it’s not like _I_ was a peach when I was first figuring it out. Some guys react badly but it’s not – _dude_ , Cas, don’t look at me like that, it’s not a big deal.”

“I would say it is.”

“Okay, yes, it can be scary and embarrassing when it happens, but I take the lesson and move on. I’m not… Look, it didn’t put me off making the moves on you, did it?”

“I just don’t like the thought of you being hurt like that.”

“You’re such a softie.” Dean grins wide and hooks a hand around the back of Castiel’s neck, drawing him in for a kiss. “You gonna protect me from now on, big guy?”

“I’m hardly equipped for that,” Castiel says wryly, “but I will try. At the very least, I promise you that I will do my best to be kind and thoughtful to you always. I will fail sometimes, because I still have moments of being forgetful and callous, but I will work to keep those moments brief and rare.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Geez, Cas, it’s not like we’re getting married.”

“I will also have moments of unnecessary gravity,” Castiel says. “Which you will indulge me in, because for reasons I have yet to fully understand, you like me the way I am.”

“Wow, you’re a mind-reader, too.” Dean’s attention is drawn away by the buzzing of his discarded phone, which he picks up with an apologetic hum. Castiel catches a glimpse of a few missed calls, and then Dean pulls up a message that has him grinning. “It’s Sammy. He asks if we wanna join them for dinner once we’re done. Heheh. ‘Done’.”

Castiel shakes his head and laughs. “I am hungry.”

“Me, too,” Dean says. “Busy day.”


	16. put your hand in my hand, baby, don’t ever look back

Being Dean’s plus one means that Castiel has a number of new responsibilities. Aside from the obvious requirements of tending to Dean and allowing Dean to tend to him, Castiel must also deal with the attentions of Dean’s family, in this case Sam and Jess, who are in the sitting area when Castiel and Dean leave their room. Jess looks up from the TV and smiles at them, and although it’s a perfectly sweet smile without a hint of teasing whatsoever, Castiel has the distinct feeling she and Sam were just talking about them.

Sam says, without looking up from his phone, “You do know that this place isn’t as big as Mom’s house?”

Dean flicks at Sam’s hair when he passes by. “I thought we were gonna do the thing where we pretend we didn’t hear anything we’re not supposed to be hearing.”

“No, that’s what _you_ do,” Sam says. “Mom’s room is like, right there.”

“Oh,” Dean says with a laugh, “so _now_ you care about Mom overhearing.”

Sam’s head snaps up. “Dude.”

“I’m sure Sam and Jess have very quiet sex,” Castiel says.

Jess nods. “The quietest.”

“ _Dude_ ,” Sam says.

“Yeah, that’s why they took the upstairs master bedroom,” Dean says. “Very considerate.”

“The doors and walls look very solid, though,” Castiel says thoughtfully. “It’s not as though they needed to cut corners when they designed the place.”

Sam makes an offended face, though his mouth quirks in amusement. “What are you implying?”

“Look, man,” Dean says, “don’t get pissed if you get more than an earful when you’re being a snoop.”

“What?” Castiel says.

“I was not _snooping_ ,” Sam says. “And it’s not like the red team’s full of honest and upstanding people who would never, ever cheat ever.”

“You’re still sore about that tug-of-war, aren’t you? Give it a rest, Sammy.” Dean looks at Castiel and adds, “Sam needs to find out where we’re hiding our flag, and probably tried to spy on me. Serves him right, really.”

Sam scoffs. “Why would I be spying on you?”

“Because you know I know where it is, and you probably got really suspicious ‘bout why I came back early while the rest of red’s still out there.” Dean grins. “Serves you right.”

Mary calls out, her voice clear as a bell: “Serves who right?”

Everyone’s immediately on their feet and fussing over Mary while she grumps at them vaguely. Mary’s in her wheelchair and clearly still upset about her lack of mobility, though she’s gracious enough to let them wheel her to the best spot in front of the TV and get her some coffee as they wait for dinner to be delivered.

“Make sure it’s the good stuff,” Mary says.

“Are you allowed to have coffee while you’re…?” Castiel gestures at her.

“Yes, I’m allowed,” Mary says. “Are you gonna stop me?”

“There’s enough of us,” Jess says. “We could try ganging up on you.”

Mary makes an exaggerated sigh. “Pity the poor lady. Speaking of the poor lady, how’s Team Blood doing?”

“Red, Mom,” Dean calls out from the kitchenette area. “We’re Team Red.”

“So Blood, Blue, and Banana didn’t catch on? It’s clever!” Mary looks at Castiel. “Don’t you think it’s clever?”

“It’s very clever,” Castiel says.

“No need for that, Cas,” Dean says, sauntering back into the living area with his mother’s coffee. “She already likes you.”

“I say things I find truthful,” Castiel says, “not necessarily because I hope to get someone to like me for it.”

Mary laughs and accepts Dean’s offering of coffee with a beatific smile. “Thank you, honey.”

“And the team’s doing just fine.” Dean just hops onto the couch, happily squishing in at Castiel’s side. “Flag hunt is tonight, everything’s proceeding right as planned.”

“Flag hunt is tonight?” Mary echoes. “What are you still doing here, then?”

“We got a strategy,” Dean says. “Don’t worry.”

Mary looks at Sam and Jess. “How about the two of you?”

“Our strategy is to stay close to red’s MVP and make sure he doesn’t get to do anything,” Jess says.

“Which could be a damned dirty lie,” Dean says, “and part of a diversionary tactic.”

“It could be,” Jess agrees.

Castiel clears his throat. “Is this in good fun, or are all of you taking this perfectly seriously? Because I can’t tell.”

“Both?” Dean says. “Both is good.”

“Aren’t you red team now, too?” Jess asks Castiel. “I mean, it should be automatic, since you’re Dean’s beau?”

“Doesn’t count,” Sam says. “The relationship was non-existent when the games started, so he isn’t entitled to a participating spot.”

“I don’t mind,” Castiel says. “It’s been fun just observing.”

“Actually,” Mary says, “if Cas is here next year, I’d love to be on a team with him and Jess, and kick both your butts together.”

Dean and Sam erupt with protests, while Jess mulls aloud over the suggestion. Castiel sits back and absorbs the atmosphere, which is a nice reprise of last night’s dinner, though perhaps a little more relaxed. _No_ – Castiel amends that thought – it’s _he_ who is more relaxed, and who is feeling less of his normal skin-prickling awareness that he’s only here to observe, but not to partake.

Castiel hadn’t noticed it last night, focused as he was on the excitement of his new relationship with Dean, but he now sees the change in the way Sam and Jess, and even Mary, talk to him. It’s subtle, but they’ve been drawing him into the conversation more often with their questions and teasing, and Mary in particular is more direct in addressing Castiel as she would any of the others (it feels like only yesterday that Mary had to struggle to get any of the others to even acknowledge Castiel’s presence in the room, though he truly hadn’t minded).

It doesn’t feel like an initiation, but it is something new and tentative where they’re trying to find a rhythm, or a space for Castiel to just _be_ within this unit. Where Castiel was once merely Mary’s ancillary, he is now due to become something else, and that is—

That is terrifying.

For a moment Castiel panics, because he doesn’t do this, he was never any good at this. His relationship with Mary is unusual enough, and taking on the relationship with Dean is its own challenge, but together, and _everything else_?

“Hey,” Dean says. His hand is warm on Castiel’s knee. “What’s up?”

“Oh my god,” Sam says, looking at Castiel in alarm. “Do you like garlic? It’s nothing personal, I swear, it’s just that one time.”

“What?” Castiel says. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“You okay?” Dean says quietly. “Froze up for a sec there.”

“I just realized that the last family gathering I was at, only one of my brothers would talk to me.” Castiel shakes his head. “I don’t mean to be a downer.”

“It’s all right,” Mary says.

“Yeah,” Dean says, poking Castiel’s arm. “I love it when you talk about your family.”

“You do?” Castiel says.

“Duh, obviously,” Dean says. “Or anything else you wanna talk about, ever. Anything, everything. Although right now we were talking about Sam’s forever hatred of garlic, though I’m cool if you wanna change the topic.”

“No, no, it’s… Please continue, I’m just.” Castiel starts a little when Dean puts his arm around his shoulders. Castiel relaxes against the touch and says, with far more candor than he intends, “This is very nice, and I’m not always prepared to deal with very nice.” Castiel is apparently also unprepared for Sam and Jess to react to that statement with understanding nods.

“Unfortunately,” Mary says, “this is going to get less nice because my mother is joining us for after-dinner drinks, which means that _at least_ a couple of cousins will be joining her in joining _us_ , and since it’s flag hunt night that means that there’s going to be a great deal of trashtalking.”

“Anna should be here,” Castiel says. “She’s excellent at trashtalking.”

“See,” Dean says, “now I really gotta hang out with your sis.”

Mary laughs. “Are you going to make a habit of nabbing all my friends, Dean?”

“Only the really hot ones.” Dean blinks then adds quickly, “Not that I’d make the moves on your sis, Cas, that would be—”

“Appropriate revenge?” Castiel supplies.

“—a whole world of wrongness.” Dean frowns. “Revenge for what?”

“For making you _sad_ , Dean,” Sam says. “When you thought he was taken.”

“I wasn’t _sad_ ,” Dean says. “Mildly frustrated is not the same thing as sad. And besides, it only took us a few weeks to get it all straightened out. How long did it take you and Jess again?”

“But we’ve a great story to tell our potential future kids,” Sam says.

“Ah,” Castiel says, “so protracted courtships aren’t unusual in this family?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “the case of me and you is fucking typical, really. Hey, actually that reminds me. Mom, I was thinking I could move back into the house for a few more weeks, while you’re still…”

“That’s not necessary,” Mary says. “I’ll have plenty of help at the house.”

“Sure, you’ll have Pam and Benny and all, but I could still—”

Mary sighs and presses a hand to her temple. “Please, Dean, not this again.”

“But look!” Dean tightens his grip around Castiel’s shoulder, hauling him close. “I’m dating this guy now, too, and he’s living at your place, so it makes sense, right, if I wanna—”

“You’re using Cas as an excuse?” Mary says.

“I’m not _using_ Cas for anything,” Dean replies sharply, which has Castiel tensing up in surprise and dismay, “I just – I don’t get it, Mom, I just wanna help—”

“For goodness sake,” Mary says.

“Mary,” Castiel says, “it’s just that Dean worries—”

“Not you, too.” Mary shakes her head. “Yes, it’s going to take a while for me to recover but I am not at a shortage of resources. As I said before, if I need something, I’ll _ask_ , but right now I am not asking for anything except for you to respect my decision. Let’s not ruin the rest of the holiday, all right?”

There’s a tense pause, which is broken when Jess stands up and offers to check on their dinner delivery. Castiel sits back and waits for it; sure enough, barely a minute passes before Dean’s making a joke about Sam forcing his fiancée to run an errand that should be his, and Sam’s countering that there’s no fighting the fact that Jess is the more useful one in their relationship.

All families have their quirks, and goodness knows the Winchesters’s mild insistence on skirting around conflict cannot hold a candle to the dysfunction that is Castiel’s family, so Castiel can’t really complain. It’s a _pity_ , but it’s manageable.

At least, Castiel thinks it’s manageable until later when Dean corners him in the kitchen, while everyone else is in the dining area moving the items from the delivery cart, and says in a low voice, “Cas, you gotta help me out.”

“I am helping out.” Castiel gestures at the wine bottles in front of him. “Red or white?”

“No, not that.” Dean looks over his shoulder, making sure the others are still preoccupied, “why’s Mom so touchy about me wanting to help her out? Has she said anything?”

Castiel looks at him in surprise. “I wouldn’t betray her confidence like that.”

“But I’m your _boyfriend_.” Dean shakes his head. “Never mind, I’ll think of something. But you would tell me if it’s my fault, right? If I did something like, ages ago or whatever that, that’s the reason Mom is so… Would you tell me?”

Castiel holds Dean’s gaze. “You have done nothing wrong.”

“Okay.” Dean sighs. “Okay. I’ll just… Oh, and bring the red.”

Castiel grabs Dean’s arm, stopping him from walking off. He knows that Dean only meant that protest of him being Castiel’s boyfriend as a self-aware joke, but his putting it that way dropped an ominous thought into Castiel’s brain. Dean looks at Castiel, confused and obviously expecting an explanation that he doesn’t have just yet, so Castiel blurts out the first thing that comes to mind: “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

“What, dinner?”

“Us,” Castiel. “Us, starting a relationship.”

“Cas,” Dean says with an eyeroll, “we’ve only been dating for like, twenty-four hours.”

“It’s a little more than that.”

“Okay, then under forty-eight hours. If you prefer the white, just say, man.”

“I have no wine preference.”

“Then?” Dean waits, cocks his head, and then leans in to study Castiel’s face. “Cas? Talk to me.”

Castiel wants to, but all he knows for sure is that there’s a pit of dread in his stomach for something his brain is telling him is petty. He could just let it go, say nothing, but that wouldn’t be in the spirit of the many resolutions he’s made over the past year. Not only that, but it wouldn’t be in the spirit of this new thing he’s starting up with Dean.

The thing is, Castiel has known and cared for Mary longer than he has Dean, but Dean is special in a wholly different way. Today it’s a minor skirmish, but isn’t that how these things start?

“Your mother is my friend,” Castiel says carefully. “Just because I have romantic feelings for you doesn’t mean that I am obliged to share all the details of the friendship I have with her.”

“Dude, of course.” Dean frowns. “Oh, you mean the thing I just… I’m sorry, you’re right, that was out of line. It won’t happen again.”

“But it will. It will because I knew Mary as a person before I ever knew you existed, so she’s never had to censor herself in front of me for your sake. That gives me a perspective that’s unfair to you _and_ to her if we’re going to – if we’re going to be together.”

“Okay, _sure_ ,” Dean says, voice rising, “but that’s not a dealbreaker, it’s the opposite of a dealbreaker because it’s a thing we can deal with and, look, Cas, we can talk this over. I’m game for talking this out—”

“But Dean—”

“Oh my God, Cas, are you actually serious? You’re having second thoughts _now_?”

“I don’t _want_ to,” Castiel says. “I’m very fond of you.”

“I’m very fond of you, too!” Dean says, way too loudly.

“Calm down, Dean.”

Dean stares at him. “How about fuck no, I won’t be calm. You’re actually suggesting we break up because my Mom called dibs on you.”

“It’s not like that—”

“What do you mean, then?” Dean presses. “Tell me, what do you mean?”

“Oh, I have to talk now?” Castiel says, annoyed. “I thought Winchesters preferred to ignore anything that’s inconvenient.” He sees movement at the corner of his eye and looks up. Sam is standing in the archway separating the kitchen and dining area, frozen in a rictus of discomfort. “He’s guilty, too.”

“What?” Sam says.

“You don’t _talk_ ,” Castiel exclaims. “You love each other but you refuse to talk about the things that hurt, and it’s… I understand it, I know how difficult it is, but it’s – it causes a loop, a feedback loop of hurts upon hurts, and then it spreads out and affects other people.”

“Other people?” Dean echoes.

“Like me!” Castiel takes a deep breath. “You didn’t ask your mother who I was to her because…? Because. And she didn’t tell you about me because she—” he just cuts himself at this point, not wanting to share Mary’s loneliness with her children, “—and caused the whole misunderstanding where you were hurt, and Sam was hurt, and Mary got hurt because you were hurt, and _I_ got hurt, and it’s just so… unnecessary.”

Dean’s breathing heavily, Castiel’s breathing heavily, and Sam looks like he just wants to die on the spot. Dean recovers first, face smoothing over as he says, “You’re right. I should’ve done something about that.”

“It’s not just on you, Dean,” Sam says.

Castiel thinks he should be embarrassed about his outburst, but he feels relief instead. It’s even a relief when Mary wheels herself into view, her face hard.

 “You’re breaking up with my son because of that,” Mary says flatly. “What on Earth, Cas?”

“You _know_ why I don’t do this, Mary,” Castiel says plaintively. “I’m still figuring out how to be a good person, let alone a good friend. Maybe it’s too early to try to be more—”

“Cas,” Dean says quietly.

“—because I don’t know if I’m equipped to pick through half-truths and secrets without betraying the people I care about.”

“Mom,” Dean says, “if you’d just tell me what I did wrong—”

“It’s not _you_.” Mary clenches her jaw. “For fuck’s sake. Airing out our dirty laundry is what messed things up between your father and I in the first place and—” she pauses, scowling as angry tears trickle down her cheeks, “—I have enough regrets there, all right? I’m _sorry_ , I know I wasn’t – I wasn’t good to John, and I will have to carry that for the rest of my life—”

“Jesus, Mom,” Sam says in a rush, kneeling down beside her, “I had no idea you were still… You don’t have to carry that _alone_.”

“That’s my job,” Mary snaps. “You’re my children and I don’t need you taking care of me.”

“What, because you don’t deserve it?” Dean laughs, but stops when he sees Mary’s face. “What the hell, Mom.”

“That’s not right,” Castiel says. “It’s your life, and your choice, but I don’t think that’s right.”

“Come on,” Mary says, turning away pointedly, “dinner’s almost—”

“No, Mom,” Dean says. “Please, not this time,”

“Don’t,” Mary says, shaking her head. “I don’t want you to hate me.”

“Never,” Sam says. “Mom, we’d never.”

“Please,” Dean says.

Castiel can see Mary start to deflect, her expression taking that familiar stubborn scowl, but then her chin trembles and she turns away. After a long moment she says quietly, “Dean, you thought it was something you did?”

“Yeah,” Dean says.

“Good going, Mary.” She shakes her head and starts wheeling herself away and out of view. Castiel moves to go after her, but stops at Dean’s touch on his arm.

“You stay here,” Dean says. “I’ll take this one.”

“ _We’ll_ take it,” Sam says. “Come on.”

The two walk off after their mother, leaving Castiel standing alone and holding a bottle of wine. He starts to put the bottle back, but changes his mind and heads out to the dining area. Jess is seated at the table, and looks mildly dumbstruck.

“Where’d they go?” Castiel asks.

“Out the side door,” Jess says. “Privacy, I guess.”

Castiel nods. “Would it be bad form to open a bottle before they get back?”

“Beats me. I’m more concerned about the food getting cold.”

“Let’s open a bottle.”

They help themselves to the wine and share small talk, but five minutes of waiting turns into ten, to fifteen, and then Jess throws her hands in the air and grabs the closest dish cover, helping herself to the bread rolls.

“I’m totally not one to judge,” Jess says, looking in the direction Mary and her sons went. “No family’s perfect, right?”

“True,” Castiel says. “And it’s hard trying to figure out exactly how involved you can be when you’re a newcomer.”

“Exactly.” Jess nods vehemently. “Mary’s been through so much, and Sam’s so… He can come off unsympathetic if you don’t know him well. He keeps thinking that he has to be the one to think things through _logically_ while everyone else is running hot on emotions. As if that fella doesn’t run as hot as the worst of ‘em.”

“So he’s noticed that there’s this issue with Mary?”

“Oh, definitely. But he figured that she’s still processing John’s passing and that she’d come to them if she needed anything. And of course he knows his mother better than I do, so I… I just see what happens, I guess.”

“That is a sound strategy. I employ it myself as well.”

Castiel stops and sits up when he hears a door opening. Soft voices approach, and then the Winchester trio appear at the dining table, all of them looking calm and tired.

Dean wheels Mary up to the head of the table and makes a questioning sound; Mary nods and gestures for him to sit down. Mary’s face is a little red but her expression is dignified, and she meets Castiel’s curious gaze with a small shrug. Next to her, Sam opens the rest of the dish covers and takes a plate, which he sets in front of Mary. She nods.

“Okay,” Dean says, settling in the chair next to Castiel. “So are we breaking up or not?”

“Um,” Castiel says.

“We’ve talked it out,” Mary says, her voice carefully modulated. “It was productive. Dean will be staying at the house for a few weeks while I recover.”

“Really?” Castiel says.

Dean pokes Castiel’s arm. “Can I move back into my old room?”

Castiel blinks. “What?”

“This is…” Mary clears her throat. “We’re in a bit of a trial period right now with various things that I… need to improve on.”

“All of us need to improve on,” Sam says.

“But we’ll start slow,” Mary says. “We’re going to take time to process and see where we go from there.”

“That is very cool,” Jess says.

Mary smiles, a little shakily at first, but it becomes stronger and more confident, until at last she nods decisively, as though to herself as much as it is to her audience. Sam reaches over and squeezes her arm, while Dean lets out a satisfied exhale.

“Can we eat now?” Mary says. “I am rather hungry, and at the rate we’re going your grandmother’s going to be here before we’ve even started.”

That’s enough for their table to erupt with noise as they sort through the dishes in figuring out which one belongs to whom. Castiel helps out, and then they’re all eating noisily and chatting easily about regular topics.

“Dude,” Dean says, “I’m serious, are we breaking up?”

“Considering the recent turn of events I would like to retract my suggestion,” Castiel says.

“Wow,” Dean says flatly. “Romantic.” His mouth stays turned down even when Castiel reaches over and holds Dean’s hand, carefully threading their fingers together. Dean cocks his head and says, “Okay, slightly better.”

“I like you a lot,” Castiel says. “And you still need to teach me how to play Catan.”

Dean tries to control his expression, but Castiel catches the way his eyes light up. “Yeah,” he says, way too calmly. “That.”

  


* * *

  


Socialising is hard work, and Castiel sleeps soundly that night. (Well, he sleeps soundly aside from a Dean-related interlude which ends with Castiel scrubbing his semen out of Dean’s hair.)

In the morning, Castiel wakes up refreshed and satisfied but, in the light of day, newly conscious of what is to follow in his future.

Although he’s well and truly fond of the Winchesters now, there is a cost to that, and that cost is that his self-imposed seclusion must come to an end. One of the resolutions he’d made when he left his old life was that he would try harder to be less rude and kinder; it would definitely be against his interests if he were to be unsociable with Dean and Mary’s extended family.

A little, selfish part of his psyche is regretful for this. The rest of him thinks: it was going to happen sooner or later, so it might as well happen now, when there are such people as Dean and Mary in his life.

Anna would find this whole thing hilarious. Actually, she probably already does, judging from her emoji-ridden replies to the latest pictures Mary’s sent to their message group. Castiel thinks Anna’s particularly amused with the candid photo Mary took of Castiel and Grandma Deanna having breakfast in the villa, where Castiel was helpfully cutting Deanna’s stack of pancakes into bite-sized pieces while the matron looked on critically.

The fact is, Anna worked hard to help Castiel find new footing in an unfamiliar world, but had to push harder to get Castiel to meet new people. She’d advised him to go out with an open mind and open heart, and told him again and again that just because he’d made mistakes before didn’t mean he was doomed to forever repeat them. After all, he should be better able to see when a person or situation brings out the worst side of him again.

Still Castiel had resisted her, unable to trust himself. (To be honest he still doesn’t fully trust himself _now_ , but he knows he’s doing a good job being vigilant about his own thoughts; detouring to good faith where it’s easy to be malicious.) Anna was understandably frustrated with him, and if she’d had her way, she wouldn’t have left him alone for the sake of work. It’s funny how these things work out, with Castiel meeting a far greater number of people in these handful of weeks compared to the months he’d spent at Anna’s.

Castiel muses over all of this later that morning, while he carefully wheels Mary out along the paved pathways from the villa to the open field next to the obstacle course. Dean is with them, as is Grandma Deanna, who is being wheeled by cousin Jonas, while Jonas’s young son trails after them while fiddling with his phone.

“It’s just nice that I’m not the only one in a wheelchair this time,” Deanna says. “And fellas like scars.”

“Even scars on feet?” Mary says. “Sure, if I ever want to start dating again, I’ll just flash a little ankle, that’d work.”

“What?” Dean says.

“That’s a joke, honey,” Mary says.

Dean laughs. “Actually, it’s funny you mentioned honey. I know a guy—”

“Oh, interesting,” Grandma Deanna says.

“—he’s really cool, and I did some work for him a few weeks ago,” Dean says. “Get this, he has a side business as a _beekeeper_.”

“A beekeeper?” Castiel echoes.

Dean shoots him a look. “This suggestion is for Mom, not for you. You already have a boyfriend.”

“But I also like bees,” Castiel says.

“But you like me more than you like bees.”

“That’s true,” Castiel says.

“Are you serious, Dean?” Mary asks. “Not about the bees, about this guy.”

“Well, yeah?” Dean says. “His name’s Cain, he’s totally cool. If you wanna, I can…?”

Mary looks at Dean silently, surprised and thoughtful. “Let me think about it. Send me a picture.”

“Try the ankle maneuver in front of him,” Deanna says. “You never know.”

When they arrive at the concourse, an argument is in full swing. This isn’t unexpected since it’s the last event of the family getaway, which will be decisive of the final result. Dean touches Castiel’s arm before running off to join his teammates, and then Mary has Castiel wheel her to the closest bystander – Gwen – while Jonas takes Deanna up into the stands for a better view.

Mary looks up at Gwen. “What’s happening?”

“Y’all found Blue’s flag on top of the flying fox,” Gwen says, “but Blue’s arguing over a technicality.”

“What about the other flags?”

Gwen grins. “We found yours, and Blue found ours.”

“So basically Blue’s arguing for a win,” Mary says. “This should be interesting.”

While they chatter about the points tally, Castiel turns back to the field. Dean literally just walked away from him a few minutes ago, yet Castiel _still_ feels a flutter in his stomach when he sees him. More than that, Castiel is impatient to resume his education in all things Dean: his likes and dislikes, his wants and fears, and the gaps in between where Castiel can be good for him.

Dean seems to sense Castiel’s watching him, and looks up. Feeling reckless, Castiel presses two fingers to his lips, and sends the kiss out. Dean, who is apparently a huge ham, mimes being hit in the chest and jerks backward.

“Sorry,” Castiel says, when he notices Mary watching.

“Don’t be,” Mary says. “I like this look on you.”

“You don’t think that’s ironic? I did tell you once that I’m not interested in this sort of thing.”

“Woe betide us if we’re not allowed to change our minds,” Mary says. “Could you get me a drink? We should make ourselves comfortable for the last relay.”

They settle up in the stands with the others who aren’t participating directly in the games: elders, small children, and a few plus ones like Castiel (whom Castiel introduces himself to, because why not). At some point during the final tie-breaker relay – where Dean gets to run across the field with an egg balanced on the back of one hand, and everyone is screaming at everyone else in excitement – Castiel is struck by a strong sense of displacement, as though he isn’t meant to be here.

And it’s true, Castiel _isn’t_ meant to be here, just as he wasn’t meant to become friends with Mary, or doing work that’s too basic for his skillset, or starting a relationship with a man who by all accounts shouldn’t find him interesting. That’s the point, though, isn’t it? Isn’t that the reason that Castiel’s set upon remaking himself, trying new things, expanding his horizons, and indulging himself where he hadn’t the time or inclination before?

Castiel looks at Mary, throwing her hands in the air and groaning when Blue is declared the winner. He looks over at Sam and Jess in the field, hugging each other despite being covered in sweat. Then he looks at Dean as he jogs up to the stands, his wide grin making it perfectly clear that he doesn’t give a fuck that his team lost because he’s going to collect his congratulatory kiss anyway.

Castiel stands up, waits for Dean to push his shades up onto his forehead, and then kisses him.

“How’re you feeling about joining next year?” Dean says. “Don’t go on Mom’s team.”

“But that would be so much more interesting,” Castiel says. “Though in general, yes, I would be interested in that.”

“Good,” Dean says, and Castiel has to take a second to marvel at just how much Dean means it.

A series of poorly-thought-out decisions may have lead Castiel to this newest chapter of his life, but he’s made some pretty damn good decisions since he got here. The evidence of that is in the way he feels, in the people he’s befriended, in the things he’s ready to try. It’s true that he still has little idea of what he wants to do in his life, but there’s time to figure that out. Besides, he now knows some wonderful people who can help him with that.

Castiel truly believes in his potential to do better and to be better. And when their group returns to Mary’s house, he and Dean celebrate their 72-hour anniversary by fucking in Castiel’s (and Dean’s former) room, with Castiel hands on the headboard and Dean’s arms around him, and that’s pretty good, too.

**Author's Note:**

> [Check out the great artwork by wayoffcanon!](http://wayoffcanon.tumblr.com/post/152071087426/shouldve-just-asked-a-2016-deancas-big-bang-fic) All the pieces are awesome and Dean's expression in the title card will never fail to crack me up.
> 
> [There's my tumblr masterpost for this fic + art](http://no-gorms.tumblr.com/post/152086258536/shouldve-just-asked-written-by-scaramouche-art#notes)!
> 
> This story is based on one of the subplots of Lisa Kleypas's novel _Sugar Daddy_ , though the misunderstanding didn't last anywhere near as long in that novel as it does in my fic.
> 
> Many thanks to the mods of the Dean/Cas Big Bang for keeping the fest going into its now-seventh year (woop!) which is amazing, and I'm very happy to participate this year. 
> 
> Thank you to shannon and geefishgerald for their beta work and knocking this fic into shape. 
> 
> Plus massive thanks to flyingcatstiel for being with me every step of this journey, from when the story was a vague idea, on to writing and hammering it out piece by piece. Forever grateful for your holding my hand through the best and worst of it.
> 
> In case anyone's wondering about the chapter titles, they're all 80s pop rock song lyrics ([playlist here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLJli4PTtBCl7vEOTol8vOvP95LR71pQ8z)) because that seemed appropriate for keeping my head in particular headspace while writing this.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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